


Deepest Secret Nobody Knows

by Hanakimicali



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Bookshop Employee Steve Rogers, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Natasha Romanov, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Slow Burn, Steve just really likes books, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, at least trying to make it as slow burn as I can handle, learning to love again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-07-10 09:58:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15947012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanakimicali/pseuds/Hanakimicali
Summary: Steve has been seeing the sun reflecting off of metal for weeks, imagining that someone or something is following him.





	1. Chapter 1

It happened again, it was the third time this week. Steve was sitting on his plush, old love seat in the corner of his apartment and he saw someone move out of the corner of his eye. Not someone, something. Of course, it wasn’t someone, he lived alone on the sixth floor. The only thing he could see outside of his window was the night sky and some rooftops of the apartment buildings across the street. He paused for a while and let all the sounds of his apartment and the noise from the streets below him wash into the apartment, he listened for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing, the jingle of wind chimes that hung from his neighbor’s fire escape. The sound irritated him when he first moved in, an unnecessary noise in an already insanely noisy city. Sam always asked him why he continued to live in the city if it bothered him so much, his answer was always the same. Brooklyn was home.

He went about his days working at the bookshop three days a week and worked with Sam at the VA during the two remaining days. His weekends consisted of reading, writing and painting. He didn’t think he was very good, but it was a passion that crawled under his skin and refused to leave. He spent most of his time holed up in his tiny studio apartment, mostly because his laundry list of ailments kept him from enjoying the world around him. He didn’t mind, he liked being alone. Always being on around people became an exhausting task the older he got; so most of the time he preferred to just stay home. It drove Sam crazy sometimes, wishing Steve would come out with him and try to meet new people.

Steve’s response was always the same. He met new people all the time, between the shop and the VA, he had plenty of people to talk to. Sam doesn’t push too much, which Steve appreciates. 

He thinks he sees it again and briefly wonders if he’s losing it. It looked like a glimmer of metal reflecting light from the lamp post outside. When he turns to look, he sees nothing. It must have just been his imagination. His imagination has been playing this trick on him for weeks now, he isn’t quite sure what to make of it. He stands from his love seat to look out the window on the other side of the room. He sees the dog in the apartment across the street from its window, it’s barking out towards nothingness. His bark muted by the walls surrounding him. Steve looks again for the glint that keeps pulling his attention but there is nothing. He sighs, a deep breath that shudders through his entire frame. He double checks the latch on the window out of habit and makes his way towards his bedroom. He shuffles and shimmies out of his jeans and oversized sweater; he crawls into bed like he was starving for it. His blankets cascade and pool around his body, trying their best to envelope him in warmth. He comfortably and calmly falls asleep.

Mornings in the shops are his favorites; they are quiet and lazy and give him plenty of time to go through and catalogue new arrivals or to catch up on special orders. Today was slower than usual because of the steady fall of rain on the harsh pavement and uneven asphalt that made up he beloved borough of Brooklyn. By contrast, it felt warm and comforting inside the shop. The faint yellow glow of the overhanging lights and various lamps gave the shop a mellow, antique look that would seem particularly soothing on a day like this.

Steve may have said today was the perfect day if it hadn’t been for the nagging pain he had been feeling all day in his lower back. He tried to sit up a bit straighter in his chair to try and stretch out the muscles, but he couldn’t shake it out. His scoliosis had been an issue since childhood, most people grow up and grow out of it. It was just his luck that he got stuck with chronic back pain on top of everything else that was wrong with him. He sipped on his ginger tea, it’s warmth seeping into his bones, soothing his pain a bit but it wasn’t enough to get rid of it completely. He finally turned his attention back to the book that he was reading but the bell to the shop entrance chimed as a customer walked in and started browsing the first table of best sellers. Steve gave her the once over. She wore a black colored rain parka with a hood that was still pulled up over her head, hiding her eyes. A few strands of shocking red hair fell loose from beneath the hood. Steve watched her for a few moments before greeting her.

“Hey, welcome in.” He said, his voice still and deep but she still seemed surprised that he acknowledged her. She looked at him and gave back a tight-lipped smile.

“Can I help you find anything?” He questioned sweetly. He did this for everyone, most people said no, browsed for a few minutes and left quickly without buying anything. This woman, kept looking at him, giving him a good once over. She gave him such a stare down that Steve started to feel uncomfortable under her scrutiny. 

“Possibly, I’m looking for a specific book.” She said finally. Her voice was deep but not in a sultry way, a way that made you immediately take her seriously. She stepped up to the small counter that Steve was sitting behind; poised at his computer, ready to look for whatever book she could be looking for.

“It’s a book called Kim by—” She started.

“Kipling.” Steve finished.

She quirked an eyebrow at him and Steve continued while he typed the book into his computer.

“Sorry. I haven’t read it myself, I’m just familiar with his works. Isn’t that book about an international spy?” Steve asked to lighten the mood and he could have sworn that for just a moment, he saw the woman crack a smile.

“Something like that.” She says as she brushes a few stray strands of hair out of her face.

“Well, it looks like we don’t have it in stock, but I can special order it for you.” She looked to be considering his offer, not much to it. Give a name, pay and leave her phone number so that he could contact her when the book came in. The woman shifted her weight back and forth between her two feet for some time until finally shaking her head.

“No, that won’t be necessary.” She said, tapping her fingers nervously on the edge of the wooden counter top. She took a step back, giving Steve a once over again. He wondered if he had something on his face or if there was something stuck in his hair, he just couldn’t read the expression that was on her face. Before he could say anything, she turned around and was halfway out the door. Sounds from the noisy street outside filtered into the room and broke him out of his haze. He stood up from his seat behind the counter and followed in her footsteps, stopped at the door and watched her run across the street, going back and forth between cars before disappearing behind a back alley. He watched for a moment to see if she would reappear, but she never did. A cold breeze blew against him and he pulled his sweater closer, tighter against his frail bones. He stepped back into the shop and closed the door behind him. He couldn’t risk anymore of the warm air escaping.

The thing is, she knew it was a stupid idea. She didn’t need to be told at all that letting her instincts pull her along this path was a risk. Not just for her. She had been watching him for days, once she realized that her partner was having a hard time leaving New York she knew she had to find out why. He was always so tight lipped so of course, he wouldn’t confide in her in that way. So, she had to resort to spying on her own partner. Every night, whether they had just finished a mission or not, she followed him. Surprised to find that he was always skulking off to Brooklyn, to one neighborhood; Crown Heights.

At first, she wanted to brush it off, chalk it all up to her partner wanting to trace his memories farther and farther back. She remembers reading something in his file years ago about him being born in Brooklyn. He could just be following his own ghost story back to its origins. One night she followed him from a safe distance across the street from him and for hours all he did was sit on the roof of a random apartment building and just watched. She didn’t know what he was watching, at one point she thought he had fallen asleep, he was a still as the building itself. She wanted to wait for however long it took for him to get up and leave but he didn’t budge. Eventually she got up and left, the distant sound of wind chimes was slowly torturing her towards insanity.

There were a few times she had noticed him watching a bookstore outside of the neighborhood and when she asked him about it, he would either ignore her completely or change the subject. So, she decided to take matters into her own hands. They weren’t on mission today, one of the rare days that she gets to herself and what does she do? She goes to spy on whatever has been pulling the attention of her partner.

The rain landed noisily on her parka, she hated this kind of weather. Even though it was raining outside, the air around her was stiff and muggy; making her hair stand on ends. She braved through the crowds and through the puddles with her head down and stepped into the book shop. She was suddenly encircled in warmth and soft music came from behind the counter. Someone greeted her in a deep, inviting voice but when she looked up to greet them back, she was surprised to find a man who didn’t quite match his voice. How such a baritone could come from such a small person surprised her. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, but her eyes continued to take him in. She could tell she was making him uncomfortable, but she didn’t really mind that, she had that effect on most people. 

They spoke about a book she was looking for, he didn’t have it. When he offered to special order the book for her she almost said yes without thinking. What could the harm be in having a book ordered. It dawned on her for a moment that she would have to give him her name, possibly a phone number to reach her with and that was slipping dangerously close into her giving away private information. She knew that this had been a stupid idea the moment she had thought of it, but she had let her curiosity get the better of her. She had to leave, disengage. She left the store and bolted across the street, she could feel the young man’s eyes on her as she moved in between cars and headed down an alleyway; out of sight.

She had just become clear from view when she felt cold, hard metal make contact with her neck and pushed her up against the grimy brick walls of a building. She could hear the mechanical whir of the arm tightening its grip. After struggling to catch a breath, she opened her eyes and looked straight into the icy blue stare of the Winter Soldier.

“Enjoying your day off so far, James?” She sputtered while her hands tried to loosen his grip on her neck. She couldn’t feel the pain in her back and shoulders get stronger as he continued to push her up against the wall.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” His voice was deep and gruff; the echoes of a Brooklyn accent on the edge of each word; it seemed out of place and time. Like someone trying to hide their accent by accentuating every soft L and hard R. “You’re putting both of us in danger of exposure.” He said monotone and low. He finally let up his grip on her neck and gave her enough space to push off the wall and escape his steel grip. 

“What are you talking about? I went into a bookshop.” She said, rubbing her fingers against the agitated skin on her neck. There was going to be bruising tomorrow. She tried to sound nonchalant about what she was saying, didn’t want to give away too much. Didn’t want him to realize that she knew as much as she did about where he went at night. Of course, she knew, and he wasn’t stupid. She was a good spy, that’s why they worked so well together.

“Let’s get back to base.” He turned away from her and started to walk towards the back of the alley, she knew there was a sewer entrance there that could lead them to a subway station. She watched him walk away for a moment, taking in what he looked like. She was so used to seeing him in tactical gear that seeing him in street clothes was almost unnerving. His raincoat was a dark navy blue and he was wearing black pants, a dark denim from what she could tell. His boots were the same ones that he always wore but they looked good outside of being worn on mission. His hair was still down, wet from the rain as it dangled in locks across his shoulders. He dark red hoodie was on underneath his coat, the hood drawn up to hide his eyes. Nothing about him seemed out of the ordinary besides the glimmering metal of his left hand.

“It's him, isn’t it?” She asked before he turned a corner away from her, her voice carried across the alley making the question seem louder than she meant it to. He stopped for a long time, she knew that he had heard the question. His hesitation was the answer that she needed.

“This isn’t smart James, eventually someone is going to find out why you keep coming back here. You’re putting him in danger.” She calls out to him, but it doesn’t do any good. Just as the words are finished coming out of her mouth, he is out of sight. Dropped down into the sewers to become invisible to the world once again.

Steve wished he had worn a heavier coat for his journey home. The rain was still coming down in the early evening as he was leaving the shop for the bus stop. On nicer days his apartment really wasn’t that far of a walk but the last thing that he needed was to get sick from spending all his time in the rain. Thankfully the bus stop had a shelter covering it, so he didn’t have to get rained on further. The droplets from the walk over fell from the collar of his jacket onto the pages of the book he was trying to read. The ride home was short, but he still liked to put in his ear buds and let his surroundings drift away. Sometimes he would gaze out the window and let the music convince him that his life was more than it was, imagining himself as the protagonist on a magical adventure or making his way across worlds to find the love of his life. In reality, he was just heading home from another quiet day at the shop; making just enough food for one, to spend the rest of his evening reading. It wasn’t a spectacular life, but he was comfortable and most days, he was happy. He ran from his bus stop to his apartment building, a short distance but by the time he reached the front door he was soaked through to his undershirt. He ran from the small front landing up the stairs, up and up until he legs started to grow tired. Six floors up until he reached the door to his apartment. A small puddle formed under his feet as he fished around in his pockets for his keys. Letting himself into his tiny apartment and making a straight shot for the bathroom to get out of his soaked clothes. They dropped to the floor and he left them there, quickly drying himself off with a towel, leaving it on the floor as well. He walked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom to pull some sweats and an over-sized t-shirt out of his dresser, pulling them over his body in fluid movements. His bones felt tired, his feet ached, and his chest hurt from running. On top of his dresser, next to a pile of books that were gathering dust was his inhaler. He picked it up and breathed in deep, twice. His medication taking affect quickly.

This was his favorite part of the day, when he got to put on some comfortable clothes, cuddle up with a book on his well-worn love seat however, when he walked out of his bedroom, something felt off. Something in the air felt static, his breath coming out in low inhales and shaky exhales. He stood in the center of the living room, his tiny studio was silent as he stood and waited for his brain to figure out what was different. After long moments of silence, he felt it. A soft breeze flew through the room and brushed gently against the bare skin of his arms. His window was open, just a crack but enough for him to feel the wisps of air sneaking its way into his sanctuary. He knew for a fact that he had bolted his window shut last night and hadn’t had a reason to unlock it this morning. He felt frozen in place. 

He held his breath for a moment and put all his energy into listening. If there was an intruder in his apartment they were doing a really good job of staying hidden. There was practically nowhere to hide a fully-grown adult, once again his attention was pulled to the window. If the intruder wasn’t inside of the apartment than they were most likely outside, possibly watching him from the fire escape. Like a spell had broken, Steve rushed towards the window and closed it, latching the lock closed. Such a simple action and already breathes of relief filled his delicate lungs. He walked back towards his bedroom to grab one of his favorite sweaters, the kind of over-sized sweaters that toppled over his thin hands. He walked back into his living room tentatively, listening to the light footfalls of his socked feet on the hardwood floors. Still no other sound, no evidence that anyone other than himself had ever been inside his home.

He doesn’t know how he notices it at first, but his eyes fall to his book case. It looks just as it usually does. Knick knacks looked the same as they always did, gathering dust along the wooden shelves. Somehow, he notices that a book is out of place, a book he hadn’t took out and read in years, yet he remembers its exact place among the rest of his books. He stepped up to the book case and picked up the thin, paperback volume; its edges covered in dust. Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, one of his favorites. The pages were bent and dogeared from years of being picked up and appreciated, Steve always folded down the corners of the pages he wished to return to. He tried to think of the last time he had picked up this particular volume, but he couldn’t remember. He was pulled out of his thoughts by something slipping out of the pages and gliding through the air to land at his feet. He picked it up, it was light; nothing but an old photograph. A black and white photograph of an old store front, not a store; a bar. McSorely’s Ale House was the name printed on the awning. The name sounded vaguely familiar, Steve was sure he had been there before but not as it looked in the old photograph. It looked straight out of a history book. He looked on the backside of the photo and saw neat scrawl that said – 

“Page 144, #5.” Steve looked back to the book and quickly flipped through the pages until he got to page 144. Number five was a reference to the verse to be read, oh, how well he knew this poem; it was one of his personal favorites. Crossing Brooklyn Ferry, he knew the verse but took the time to read it again:

“What is it between us?  
What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years  
Between us?  
Whatever it is, it avails not – distance avails not, and  
Place avails not, I too lived – Brooklyn of ample hills was mine  
I too walk’d the streets of Manhattan Island, and bathed  
In the waters around it,  
I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me.  
In the day amoung crowds of people sometimes they  
Came upon me,  
In my walks home late at night or as I lay in bed they  
Came upon me,  
I too had been struck from the float forever held in solution,  
I too had received identity by my body.  
That I knew was of my body, and what I should be I knew I should be of my body.”

He didn’t remember taking a pen and underlining these words but there they were. Runny ink was following underneath each word, asking them to be read over and over. Absorbed and understood and felt, just as all words longed to be. He looked around his living room once again and felt the weight of his aloneness close in on him. He closed the book and slide it back into its reserved spot. He left the photograph out, taking it back to his loveseat and leaving it on top of his end table. He tried his best to go about his evening, but the photograph kept pulling his eyes away from his book.


	2. These Phantoms and Wolfish Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day at the shop proves to be much more than that for Steve.

The next morning, he sat behind his counter at the shop, looking closely at the photograph of the old bar. It was enthralling and oddly familiar. He opened the browser on his laptop that was sitting beside him and typed in McSorely’s Ale House. Low and behold, there it was. It was still up and running in Manhattan. He got a feeling, deep in the pit of his stomach that made him uneasy. He knew that this photograph didn’t belong to him and it wasn’t taken by anyone that he knew; yet this photograph was placed inside his book like a marker for the poem that he had read last night. That he had read and reread, repeatedly he played the words over in his head. Someone had been in his apartment last night. Someone had come in and not stolen anything, hadn’t disturbed any of his possessions other than his copy of _Leaves of Grass_. Muddled the layers of dust that surrounded its spot on the bookcase. 

Thinking about this fact put his mind in a funk for the rest of his work day. His mind clouded with endless thoughts of who would do such a thing. He could feel a stress headache begin to form behind his eyes.

“Kamala…” No response from the back room. He turned away from the counter and called again. 

“Kamala!” He said a bit louder than before. His co-worker, Kamala popped out from behind a stack of boxes, containing new releases that had yet to be processed in. Steve gave her a sad smile.

“I’m gonna run across the street and grab some coffee, do you need anything?” He always asked, and Kamala always shook her head, no. She followed him out of the back room so that she could watch the store front while Steve was gone. He stepped out into the busy and wet afternoon.

The rain from the evening before was continuing to batter the pavement surrounding Steve in his day to day life. Dark clouds made the tall buildings around him appear ominous and imposing. He jogged across the street into the coffee shop; just being outside for a few minutes caused his hair to stick to his face, he tried to run his hands through it to remove some of the water, but it only made it worse. He wiped his hands dry on his jeans and waited for his turn to order.

The man in front of him was incredibly tall and broad. Steve felt glad that he knew exactly what he wanted to order or else he wouldn’t have been able to read the menu over the span of the man’s shoulders. He felt someone step up in line behind him, he looked through his peripheral vision and could tell that the man was pretending not to notice how small he was. Most of the time Steve didn’t mind being the smallest one around, it was what it was. As a teenager it used to bother him more but now, well into his twenties he had learned to live with it. There were still moments however, when his survival instincts would kick in and his heart rate would increase when he felt like he was being closed in on. Hearing his name being called pulled him out of his suffocating thoughts.

“Steve?” The barista called his name once more as Steve stepped up. He smiled shyly, running his hands through his still wet hair.

“Sorry, was in my head for a minute. Can I get a latte to go?” He said, heat rising up his neck. The girl behind the counter set about ringing him up for his drink.

“Slow over at the shop today?” She asked, he usually didn’t drink coffee this late in the day.

“That, and I didn’t get much sleep last night.” It wasn’t a lie. He spent most of his night on high alert, listening for any and every tiny sound that seemed out of place. _Leaves of Grass_ on his bedside table after he left his love seat. He couldn’t settle his mind enough to focus on the act of falling asleep.

He picked up his coffee when it was called out and prepared himself to brave the rain once again. He ran across the street, dodging and waving aside cars. He looked towards his destination and noticed a man standing under the awning of the shop; looking through the small cart of sale paperbacks. Once Steve was completely underneath the awning, he straightened himself up to look at his potential customer. The man was tall, and his shoulders were broad from what Steve could tell, he wore a heavy navy coat; wool, collar pulled up against his neck. He wore a black beanie, but he could see long locks of hair hanging down from underneath. His gloved hands were running gently along the spines of some of the books. 

“Hi there, how’re you doing today?” Steve asked in a kind, yet slightly tired tone of voice. He could see the man physically stiffen, his hand stopped its ministrations on the books. Steve paused before going into the shop, he wondered if he should say something else to the man; push him to speak. That wasn’t like him but usually people would at least give him the brush off, tell him that they were just looking. This man kept his silence and his back towards Steve.

“I’ll be inside if you need help with anything.” He spoke quietly before pulling the shop door open and walking inside. He waved at Kamala, signaling her to go back into the stock room to catalog their newest releases. Steve took his spot back at the counter and chanced a glance back towards the store front. The man was now gone, Steve found it odd but told himself not to dwell on it too much. People came and went from the shop all the time – their eye catching something that was in the sale bin but moving on quickly. He shrugged and turned his attention back to the comforting warmth of his coffee. 

It was five minutes to closing so Steve stood from his spot and began his closing duties. He turned off half of the lamps in the shop, casting everything in the large room in a shimmering, gold light. Steve would find it a romantic setting if he had anyone to share it with. He went out the front door to pull in the rolling cart of sale books. He maneuvered the cart through the door and locked it behind him. He flipped the open sign to say closed and was fully encased in the quiet of the store. Seeing it like this was his favorite, just him in a room with his books. Well, not his truly but he cared about this shop as if it was his own. Maybe someday it would be. Even still, he loved being in the store with no customers around to ask him questions, exactly how he liked to live his life. Quietly. 

He looked through the paperback books to clean and organize them for tomorrow and found that one of them, right in the center of the stack, was wrapped. He pulled it out from between the other books, the stiffness of the brown construction paper crinkled beneath his fingers. There was nothing written on the paper, no indication of where the book had come from. It hadn’t come from the shop, they didn’t do any wrapping of any kind; someone had left it there. Had someone left it for him to find? He double checked the lock on the door and turned out the rest of the lights; only leaving the display lights on in the front windows. He walked back to the counter and leaned against it before deciding to pull apart the paper wrappings. Starting at the back where the paper had been sealed shut by a piece of scotch tape, he opened it without tearing the paper. It was a book of the collected works of E. E. Cummings, another one of his favorite poets. His manipulation of the English language had always fascinated him. It was all so curious, these books. Resting inside the cover was another photograph.

It looked old, like the photograph from the night before. Tom’s Restaurant, it was a place he had been to before; right on the outskirts of Prospect Park. He had never been there as it looked in the photograph, which was black and white and looked like it had been taken in the thirties or forties. He flipped the photograph over and once again, saw the same messy scrawl from the night before. All lower case it said, _“somewhere I have never traveled, gladly beyond.”_ He knew the poem but hadn’t read it in years. He opened the collection of poems that he was holding and saw that the poem in question was on page 144. So, he flipped through the old, delicate pages and found it. An excitement thrummed through his veins as he read each line.

“(I do not know what it is about you that closes  
And opens; only something in me understands the voice  
Of your eyes is deeper than all roses)  
Nobody, not even the rain, (has such small hands)”

He knew it was oddly superficial, but he chanced a glance at his own hands, slight but strong. Were all these things being left behind for him to find? Was there a message that he was missing? He traced his steps back and thought about the sale cart. He was absolutely sure that the wrapped book hadn’t been there in the morning when he opened the shop and pulled the cart outside. People had stopped to look at it throughout the day, but nothing stood out as particularly strange. His mind searched and stopped when he thought of the man that had been standing there when he was coming back from the coffee shop. He hadn’t been able to see the man’s face because he hadn’t turned to look at him and when Steve looked back to check on him he was gone. He took the book and photograph with him as he finished his closing duties and left the shop out the back door.

He walked around the block, the light tapping of rain on his jacket. He was back on the main road, looking for a sign of anyone suspicious, checking to see if anyone was watching him. There was no one, just people rushing through the streets to get out of the rain. He thought he must look like an idiot, he didn’t even know what he was looking for. 

Up above, out of his peripheral vision, he saw it again. If he wasn’t so excited he would have started to get irrationally upset. A flash of light reflecting off metal. He looked up and saw what his mind registered as hair blowing in the wind; then it was gone. Like someone had been looking over the edge of the roof and turned away just as he looked. Rain water splashed against his cheeks, so he looked away and turned to make his way towards the bus stop. The book of poetry tucked inside his jacket to protect from the rain. 

 

“This is getting ridiculous, don’t you think?” Natasha tried to keep her tone as non-confrontational as possible. She had fought the Soldier before and it was terrifying. He turned away from the edge of the building’s roof, still in his tactical gear; his metal arm free from any kind of jacket or glove.

“We’re not on mission anymore, I would appreciate it if you didn’t spy on me in your free time.” He said, the gruff in his voice would intimidate anyone else but Natasha knew how to stay on his good side; even if she had been following him.

“I would love to, I mean, we literally just finished the job. A Simple recon mission that should I remind you that you, you were late for this morning? Too busy standing outside that bookstore down there to remember your job?” Natasha walked over to him, she knew he towered over her, but she was 85% sure in this moment that he wouldn’t hurt her, they were partners. She thought she knew him well but lately she wasn’t so sure. Ever since he first saw the man who worked at the shop he had been different. She couldn’t put her finger right on it, but he seemed to shut down. He would disappear immediately after a mission and wouldn’t explain himself if she questioned him.

“Someone is going to find out where you keep going. Someone bad, you have plenty of people out there who would love to take you down a peg. They will mow through this kid to get to you if you keep going on like this.” She looked up at him, inches away from him; hoping that her words would start to get through his thick skull. He turned away from her quickly, eye contact would only give him away. He knew she was right, but he couldn’t just stop; couldn’t walk away.

“Who is this guy?” She asked, like she hadn’t asked him a thousand times already. He picked up a damp, navy coat up from the ground by his feet. The Soldier began walking away from her, he had to get away. “James! Who is he?” She called out to him. He stopped in silence for a moment, she thought that she would get a true and real answer from him. He shrugged, a gesture that she had never seen him do. Everything that the Winter Soldier did was exact and precise, and a shrug was the opposite of that. 

“I don’t know.” He mumbled, and she could hear the hint of a smile in his voice. He opened the roof access door and walked out, once again leaving Natasha in his wake.

 

The rain had decided to let up, much to Steve’s relief. It had left his concrete jungle with a grey, wet sheen. Dreary for some people but this was his favorite way to see the city. It was a welcome invitation to walk home instead of waiting for the bus. His new book of collected poems burning a hole in the pocket of his jacket, he ventured towards home. His music travelling through his ear buds, transforming everything around him into a scene from a movie. A transitional scene, perfectly centered between two points in his life. He wondered what the next scene would be, could anything happen that would change the course of his life?

He was only a few blocks away from his apartment when someone stepped out of the darkness of an alleyway that Steve was walking past. He hadn’t heard anything through the languid music that came through his phone. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, something felt off.

“If you just give me your money, there’s no reason for anyone to get hurt.” He had barely heard the man through his headphones, but the intent was evident from his body language. This man was attempting to mug him. He almost wanted to laugh, he had lived in Brooklyn his entire life and had to listen to people complain all the time, about how the borough was changing, and crime was getting worse. All these years and he had never once been mugged or attacked, yet, here he was. He could hear the man shouting at him against his music because he was just standing there, frozen. It was taking him too long to do what the man wanted, why couldn’t he move? He couldn’t even speak; his throat was closed, and his chest burned as his lungs struggled to draw breath. The man began to approach, gathering the front of his jacket in his fist. Just before the man’s closed fist met his nose, he mentally made not that rain drops had sporadically started to fall again; he could them hit his flushed cheeks.

The punch hurt, it hurt a lot. He stumbled backwards and hit the ground once the mugger let go of him. Air rushed out of his lungs and a metallic taste began to flood his mouth, His nose didn’t feel broken, but he was bleeding profusely. He tried to make it stop by lifting his hands to his nose but that only made it worse. His hands became covered in his own blood, it only spread farther along his lips and cheeks. The mugger stepped up to him and tried to riffle through his pockets for his wallet, but Steve resisted, trying to push the man away. Kicking at him with him long legs but his body was tired, his lungs were having a hard time inhaling a full breath and Steve could feel himself starting to panic. He closed his eyes as the man pulled Steve’s arms out of the way, pain shooting through his stretched tendons as he continued to resist. Just as the pain arrived, it disappeared. Suddenly, the man wasn’t looming over him anymore, he had been wrenched off him by force. He opened his eyes and saw that the man had been shoved up against the jagged brick wall of the alley.

It took Steve a few panicked seconds for his mind to catch up to what he was seeing. There was another man, holding the mugger against the wall by his neck. He looked like the man who had been standing at the sale bin earlier in the day; Steve’s heart skipped a beat. He could still feel the blood pouring from his nose, but he didn’t dare make a move. The man, his savior, was still wearing the same rain-soaked coat from earlier in the day but the rest of his clothing looked different. No more beanie, his shoulder length brunette hair hung free in a cascade of wet tangles; shielding most of his face from view but Steve could still make out soft lips and the hint of stubble on his chin. The most curious part was the hand that was currently around the throat of his mugger, it was silver. At first, Steve thought he was wearing gloves but when his eyes focused directly on his hand he could see that it was actually metal. His savior had a metal hand.

He watched as the mugger tried to struggle out of his grip, but the more he wriggled, the tighter the new man’s grip seemed to get. He drew closer, holding the criminal close to him so that he could whisper something that Steve couldn’t hear. It must have been menacing if the mugger’s reaction was any indication. His eyes drew large and his breathing became frantic, trying to pull himself out of the man’s iron grip. There was a whirring sound that echoed from the man throughout the alley and his metal hand released the mugger, who was terrifying earlier but now ran as quickly as he could out of the alley and out of sight. 

There wasn’t much light from the street that reached this far into the alley, Steve couldn’t see much of the man who saved him. There was near silence surrounding them, aside from the pitter-patter of the rain falling; they were suspended together in their own private alleyway. No one walked past, it was just the two of them in the noiselessness of their city. The man didn’t turn to look at Steve, didn’t stop to ask him if he was okay. Steve watched him, trying to memorize every detail of what he could see. Rain water rolling off the thick wool of his coat, boots covered his feet; he watched the metal hand like a ticking clock.

The man turned and started walking away, towards the mouth of the alley. Steve struggled to get to his feet, he had to do what he could to stop this man. What kind of person saves the life of another and then just starts to walk away? It took him a moment to find his balance but when he did he called out with all the air he could muster from his weak lungs. 

“Wait…” Steve’s voice was wrecked, like someone was shoveling gravel down his throat and he was trying to talk around it. The man stopped. Steve wanted him to turn around, to look at him. He wondered what color his eyes were. Mostly, he just wanted this man to understand how grateful he was that he had been there for him. Steve took two steps closer to him but then stopped. The metal hand that he had been watching with fascination had curled into a fist. The man in front of him hadn’t spoken but this small gesture was enough for him to comprehend. 

“Why did you help me?” Steve asked, his voice still gravel beaten but with a little more confidence. He lifted a hand up to his nose and whipped some of the blood away, leaving it behind on his sleeve but he didn’t care. Silence surrounded them both again, Steve still battled with his lungs, willing them to just get by on their own for a bit longer. The man didn’t look back at him, didn’t speak – he didn’t even seem to breath during their shared time; eventually he started to walk away again, and Steve didn’t try to stop him this time. He watched him turn the corner out of the alley way; lamp light reflecting off his metal hand. The reflection awoke sleeping memories within Steve. 

He rushed through the last few blocks towards his apartment complex; getting inside and feeling safe was the most important thing to him after what he had just been through. He rushed through the door and up the stairs, his movements bordering on frantic. Once inside the warmth of his apartment he rushed through to get to his bedroom, to his dresser, to his inhaler. His lungs had been burning for far too long, he could feel the stress of it all behind his skin. Inhaling the medicine triggered relief throughout his entire small frame. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed and stay under his protective comforter forever. He walked into the living room and looked around, everything looked the same as when he left this morning. The book of Whitman still in its usual spot on the bookcase.

He walked towards his windows, his usual routine of double checking their locks before bed was ingrained inside him. He looked out the clouded windows, looking at a city shrouded in rain and darkness; the only hint of light was from the street lamps that cast everything in a yellow glow. He looked down at the lock and decided to leave the latch open tonight. Making sure every light and lamp was shut off inside his studio, he stripped himself of his rain-soaked clothing and climbed into bed. He could feel every single ache inside his lithe frame, his elbows and his back felt absolutely destroyed. The last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep was the reflection of lamp light bouncing off a metal hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title comes from the song "Contra" by Talos. I listened to it a lot during this chapter.
> 
> As always, you can visit me at [hanakimicali](http://hanakimicali.tumblr.com/)


	3. All the Old Familiar Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has fallen ill and Sam meets a certain determined red head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there is a lot of exposition in this chapter. A bit heavy winded but I needed to get it out. The title of this chapter is from the song "I'll Be Seeing You" which has been recorded by everyone under the sun, but the superior version is the one mentioned in this story; Billie Holiday's version.

When he woke up the next morning, his head felt like it was the size of a blimp. All the commotion in the rain yesterday had caused his body to react as it usually did; he was sick. One moment he felt cold, the next his tired body was slick with sweat. He looked at his alarm clock and saw that it was nearly ten in the morning, he was supposed to help Sam at the VA today; preparing for a fundraiser that was coming up. There was no way he was going to get up and leave his apartment today. When he picked up his phone he noticed that he had already missed a call from Sam this morning; he hit redial without listening to his voicemail. 

“You had better be dead for leaving me to paint all of these banners by myself.” Sam said instead of leaving with a simple hello. Steve would have laughed if it hadn’t hurt so much to do so.

“What if I woke up feeling like death?” He croaked out. He told Sam all about everything that had happened to him after he left work yesterday. What he didn’t tell Sam was about the poems and the photographs and how, even though it sounded crazy, he had thought the same man who had saved him in the alley was the one who had been leaving these objects for him to find. They got off the phone a few minutes later with a promise from Sam to bring him some soup after he left the VA.

He climbed out of bed, only wearing his underwear from last night; he may have been sick but at least he had the wherewithal to change into clean clothes. He pulled on his over-sized sweater, its alabaster color making him look even more pale. He stepped out of his bedroom quietly, the morning sun pushed through the last of the rain clouds, causing bright rays of sunlight to shine through his windows. He watched his windows wearily, walking up to them slowly; the lock still unlatched, just as he had left it. He looked all around his apartment, looking for anything that seemed off. Everything in his bookcase sat in the correct spot, the stack of books on his coffee table was untouched. Not one speck of dust looked out of place. It was odd but something about it disappointed Steve. He almost laughed out loud at its absurdity. Being disappointed that some mystery person hadn’t broken into his apartment while he was sleeping. If it was the same man that saved him in the alley, then he couldn’t be that bad of a person, right?

He set about into his tiny kitchen to make some coffee and see if he could put something together for breakfast. He had a long day of rest ahead of him if he were going to get well enough to go into work tomorrow. Once the coffee was brewing, he went over to his record player to put on some music. Sam always laughed at him for keeping vinyl and honestly, he thought it was odd at first as well. The record player and most of the vinyl had been his mother’s; she had gotten them from her parents. They were something that he couldn’t find it within him to part with. Eventually, he started purchasing most of his favorite records on vinyl, which resulted in an electric and impressive collection. He opened the cover and found that there was already a record placed inside. _I’ll Be Seeing You_ by Billie Holiday; one of his grandmother’s that he usually kept inside his record cabinet. He hadn’t looked inside or taken the time to listen to those records in a long time, that kind of music wasn’t really his style. He didn’t have much of an ear for music from the forties. He was about to remove the record from the player when he stopped. All he could hear was the distant tinging of wind chimes outside; he glanced back towards the window. Was this record another message? If the wind and walls could talk, what would they say?

Steve looked back down at the record and curiosity got the better of him. He had heard the song before but had never really thought much of it. He was more familiar with the Frank Sinatra version but once the needle pressed down on the record, the smooth voice of Billie Holiday filled all four walls of his apartment. The speakers caused the needle scratches to be amplified within the small space. Halfway through the song he saw a reflective flash come from the rooftop across the street, he had an audience. A normal person would feel concerned if they realized that someone had been watching them inside their own private space, especially while they had been sleeping. In fact, he tried to pinpoint the reason that his body didn’t react like he thought it would, why didn’t he feel a sense of panic?

He let the song wash over him, maybe the song held the key to everything? The mild music continued to fill his apartment while he walked over to his windows and lifted one open as far as it would go. A cold breeze pushed past him and fluttered his thin curtains. Goose pimples rose up on his exposed skin; the song of the wind chimes blended together with the ethereal melodies of Billie Holiday as he went back to the kitchen for his coffee. Without intention, now all his actions were measured to perfection because he imagined protective eyes watching him. He pulled another mug out of his cabinet and poured a second cup. He walked over to the window and set the steaming cup on the window sill, feeling slightly foolish. He went over to his love seat, curled underneath his pile of blankets; opening his laptop and setting it down on his coffee table. There was only one way he was going to get through this sickness; lots of hot liquids, all his blankets and binge-watching Gossip Girl. Only he was distracted, every few minutes looking over to the windows to see that the coffee mug was still there every time. He knew the man would never come if he knew he was being watched. Once he stopped looking, he could feel the insistent pull of sleep pushing him back under.  
He jolted awake when a rough knock at the door shocked him out of sleep. He looked at his laptop and it was asking, “Are you still watching?”. He sat up and out of his love seat, his back and neck in a ton of pain. He was surprised that he had been able to fall asleep on the tiny couch. He knew he was small guy but usually that only happened when he was incredibly exhausted. The knocking continued. He walked over, his steps quiet and sluggish. He opened the door to see Sam standing there with a slightly concerned look on his face. In his hands, a to-go bag that he immediately recognized.

“You didn’t…” Steve said with a smile.

“Your sickness cure, Won Ton soup from Uncle Tsang’s. Who’s your best friend?” Sam said, his worried smile now a shit-eating grin. Steve couldn’t help but laugh even if it hurt to do so. He moved out of the doorway so that Sam could enter the apartment. Sam set the soup down on the coffee table and began to pull all the items out of the bag; Steve watched him move, his movements were quick and smooth, each one could be anticipated. 

“No wonder your sick man, this window is wide open.” Sam said as he rushed to close the window, shutting off the flow of cool air. He moved the coffee cup off the window sill and took it to the kitchen; setting it gently in the sink. Steve rushed over to his side and looked at the cup, it was empty. He could feel a rush of nervous energy begin in his arms and travel all the way through his body and stopping in the pit of his stomach. His stranger had accepted his offer, a smile played across his lips.  


“Hey, are you listening?” Hearing Sam’s voice broke him free from his thoughts and he realized that Sam had been talking and he definitely had no memory of what he had been saying.

“Sorry Sam, I’m just feeling really out of it.” Steve apologized and went back to his chair, covered himself once again in his blankets so that he could tuck into his soup. Sam followed him and sat down on a chair that he had pulled over to the coffee table and began to open his plastic containers of food. He looked over at Steve’s laptop and let out a hearty laugh.

“Are you watching Gossip Girl again?” He said as he opened the top of his food container and the comforting scent of steamed vegetables and heavy sauce swarmed the air around them.

“It’s my go-to when I’m feeling sick.” Steve tried to defend his taste in television.

“Yeah, and you’re sick a lot.” Sam said, playfully. He couldn’t be upset with Steve, everyone had their quirks and Steve had many. He felt protective over the smaller man and not just for the obvious reasons; his size really didn’t have much to do with it. The comforting qualities that Steve possessed caused most people to want to take care of him. Because of this, Sam was perfectly content in spending the next few hours eating his food and watching television. By the time he had stood up to leave, the sun had well set over the horizon. He said a quick goodbye, simply asking him to not go into work tomorrow unless he was feeling 100%. Steve nodded and waved him out of the apartment.

 

The moment Sam stepped out of the Brownstone building that Steve lived in, the chilly night air assaulted him like a ton of bricks. It had been so warm inside the apartment that he didn’t think twice about the weather outside. He quickly walked across the street towards his car. A small, baby blue 1967 Volkswagen. He got into the driver’s seat and before he could put the keys in the ignition, a voice from behind startled him.

“Agent Wilson.” A velvet voice, someone who had clearly mastered the art of surprise. His hand instinctively went towards his glove compartment, he knew he had his Colt inside. All those times he thought it crazy to keep his gun in the car, he couldn’t believe he found himself in such a situation.

“Please, I removed your gun from your glove compartment the moment I got into your car…Agent.” She said with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. All Sam could see of her was the fire red hair reflective in the rear-view mirror.

“Agent? You have the wrong guy, lady.” Sam said, trying to keep his voice calm and even so as not to seem like a threat. Although, from his first impression, this woman didn’t seem like someone who would find a lot of things threatening.

“Agent Samuel Thomas Wilson, got recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. after being honorably discharged from the U.S. Air Force at the age of 26. You took up station in upstate New York for the Nomad Project- “She could have continued but Sam interrupted her. 

“Okay great, so you know me. What do you want?” Sam couldn’t help but be irritated. It had been nearly five years since he had left S.H.I.E.L.D., five years since the infiltration of Hydra had been revealed and now he was living a comfortable life. He didn’t think he had done anything to deserve the past bubbling up to the surface. 

"My name is Romanoff, my partner and I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. The new S.H.I.E.L.D. that we’ve had to rebuild from the ground up. We’re helping people, helping the world but lately, my partner has been distracted.” Natasha was trying to explain the situation in layman’s terms, trying to find the easiest way to explain everything without giving anything away. It was imperative that she be completely understood. 

“What does this have to do with me?” Sam was starting to lose her patience. For someone who broke into his car and waited for him, she was taking a hell of long time getting to the point. 

“Not you. What can you tell me about your friend Steve?” Sam froze in place, everything around him stopped. The only sound was of Agent Romanoff’s breathing coming from his backseat. His hands tightened on his steering wheel. 

“Why would you want to know about Steve?” It was difficult to keep his voice even; this woman was skating on very thing ice.

“My partner has been watching him, following him and I’m not sure why. Whenever I ask him about it, he leaves; disappears. Ignores me until it’s time for the next mission. Did you friend Steve have anything to do with Project Nomad or...or the Department X program?” Natasha asked finally, she didn’t know what kind of response she would get. Sam sighed, a lungful of regrets. He finally put his keys in the ignition and started the car, it’s small engine roaring to life.

“If we’re going to talk about this, we’re going to a secure location.” He said sternly, Natasha didn’t have the heart to deny him. She let him pull the car away from Steve’s building and off into the night.

It was still early in the evening in the city that never sleeps, it still took them nearly forty minutes to drive from Steve’s apartment in Brooklyn to Harlem, where Sam resided. His apartment wasn’t much larger than Steve’s, but it was where Sam felt most comfortable after leaving S.H.I.E.L.D. Home was as good a place as any. 

“Do you want a beer?” Sam offered, and Natasha only raised her eyebrows back at him. Sam laughed, “Okay, no beer. Well, I’m going to have one since the story is kinda long and complicated.” He walked out and into his kitchen, he dug through the contents of his fridge for a moment until he found some beers all the way in the back. He walked back to his kitchen table, where Natasha sat silently waiting. 

“So, it started in 1944…” Sam started as he took a seat across from Natasha.

“ _You’re_ from 1944?” Natasha asked with a disbelieving smile. Sam rolled his eyes.

“No. Steve is.” Sam said bluntly. Natasha searched for any kind of sarcasm on his face but there was none. He was being completely honest. Natasha understood the world that she was a part of, anything was possible, so she waited for him to continue.  


“He was born in 1918, small like you see him now. Grew up in Brooklyn. Always wanting to do his part, when the War broke out all he wanted to do was join. He got rejected by the Army dozens of times, too small and too…fragile. Until Dr. Erskine took notice of him. Erskine—” 

“He founded the Super Soldier Program.” Natasha interrupted. The Serum was legendary. Even though there had been no recorded successes, Hydra had always tried their best to replicate the idea.

“Right. He selected Steve to be the first test subject. It didn’t take. After the injection, there seemed to be no physical changes so everyone wrote it off as a failure. Until Erskine noticed the slightest of enhancements. Heightened senses, mental processing, stats were all beyond the expert level. He stopped aging completely. He _was_ the Nomad project. It all started with him.” Natasha was still confused. The man she had seen in the bookshop didn’t seem like someone who was enhanced in any way.

“He was kept in a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility since the 50’s., kept on ice unless he was truly needed. He’s had numerous handlers over the years, people who helped him recover from Cryo or just to get him acclimated to whatever decade he was brought back in. I became his handler in 2008, five years before we found out about the Hydra infiltration. We spent almost all his time off ice together, listening to old records and talking about how different the world is now. I tried to tell him as much as I could because he was always in the facility; he never got to see the outside world.” Sam took another long pull of his beer, waiting to see if Natasha had anything to say. He could see that she was trying to process everything, and he gave her a moment to do so. It actually felt good to get everything off his chest.

“When it had leaked that Hydra had been living and growing inside S.H.I.E.L.D., I learned of their plans for the Nomad Project. For Steve. They felt that the mind was enough, what use was the body? It wasn’t enough to just help him escape, we had to hide completely in plain sight. Steve knew the best way to increase his chances of survival was to completely wipe him clean; start over again and Hydra would have no use for him. So, we did. Clean slate, escaped back to Crown Heights and built a normal life for him. A normal, 26-year-old artist, who works in a bookstore and drinks an excessive amount of coffee.” Sam finished with a sad smile.

“But, his memories…” Natasha was trying to process everything that Sam had explained to her. 

“All fabricated. Besides the new ones he’s made over the last five years.” Sam said with a shrug. He finished his beer, setting the bottle down on the kitchen table in front of him. He could see the wheels in Natasha’s mind spinning.

“You said he stopped aging, what about when he gets sick?” Natasha thought she had cracked him.

“Psychosomatic. I think there is a part of his body that remembers the feelings of being sick, or nauseous and he believes that he is feeling that way. He’s never actually sick. He goes to sleep and wakes up the next morning feeling perfectly healthy.” Sam said, another shrug gracing his shoulders. Natasha stood and began to make her way towards the door of his apartment.

“Something that you have to understand, Agent Romanoff.” That stopped her dead, hand already on the door knob. She turned to look at him, he had stood from his chair and his arms were folded over his broad chest.

“Five years ago, I did everything in my power to protect Steve and not just because I was his handler. I walked away from that life, I’m not a soldier anymore. But I will continue to protect Steve with everything I’ve got so, maybe you should explain that to your partner. The last thing I need is for him to lead the wrong kind of people to Steve’s door.” The stood, looking eye to eye. Sam could tell that she understood him. She gave him a curt nod before she was out the door. Sam counted to ten before he let himself relax. 

 

Once Sam had left Steve’s apartment, Steve walked back over to the window and lifted it back open. It had become quite a chilly night, the dark clouds looming overhead. He walked back over to his record player, the same Billie Holiday record sitting in the same place it was that morning. He turned it on, picked up the needle and set it back down on the spinning record. Gentle music filtered through the speakers and surrounded him once again. He wanted something to drink but he knew it was too late for coffee or tea, it would keep him up for the rest of the night and he needed to be well for work in the morning. 

He looked in his refrigerator and saw a large jug of ice tea. He poured himself a glass, over ice. He chanced a glance at his window and he could have sworn he saw some slight movement. There was a small part of him that felt foolish, pulling out another glass and filling it with a few ice cubes. He filled the glass with iced tea and he walked over to his window. He set both glasses down on his sill and walked over to his love seat; only to grab his favorite blanket and pillow. He went back over to the window, sitting down against the wall right next to it.

The pillow perched against the wall to support his back, he pulled the blanket closer around him. He picked up his glass and took a long, refreshing gulp. The second glass sat on the window sill for a few minutes, but Steve could still feel the odd prickle on his skin, a sign of someone watching him.

“It’s just regular ice tea, there’s no sugar. I don’t really like the taste of added sugar, I like to taste the drinks as their meant to be tasted. I…hope that’s okay.” He spoke towards the open window, his curtains flowing in the night time air. There was nothing but the sound of Billie’s smooth voice, singing back towards him. As the song was about to end, he saw it. A slow, tentative hand reached through the threshold of the window and took the ice tea. Steve smiled.

_“I'll find you in the morning sun,_  
And when the night is new,  
I'll be looking at the moon,  
But I'll be seeing you.” 


	4. This Moment Yearning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another poem, another photograph and maybe James can get some answers?

Steve had always felt that he was the kind of person whose mood was based a lot on the weather. When it was sunny and bright outside, he had a bit more pep in his step. The sun shone through his blonde hair and reflected the blue in his eyes. When the sun was hidden behind thick grey clouds, Steve couldn’t help but adopt a gloomy outlook for the rest of the day. He would look out his windows and try to think about his family and his heart would hurt. He would try his hardest to focus on specific memories, but his mind would feel as dense as the clouds above him. Today felt no different. 

He woke up feeling good, healthy; aside from the pain in his lower back caused by sitting on the floor for hours. His back pressed up against an unforgiving wall as a stranger sat just outside his window. It could all be called crazy if Steve ever told anyone but for now, he wanted to keep it to himself. He tried several times to get the man to talk but no matter what kind of questions he posed, he never got an answer. “Why have you been watching me?” “Do you know me?” “Why did you help me in the alley?” “Do you have a name?” Not one answer came to him. After nearly an hour of quiet companionship, he was finally answered by an empty glass being gently set back down on the window sill. After that, Steve knew he was alone again.

Now he sat at his counter at the shop, watching people come and go from the store front window. It was getting nearer and nearer to closing and while most of the time Steve enjoyed his job, loved being around his books, in this moment he just wanted to get back to his apartment. He could only think to explain it as a gravitational pull, something was calling him home. The last hour of the day finally passed, Steve closed down the shop and stepped back out into the world. He put his ear buds in and pulled his coat even tighter around his small frame. Shutting away the cold air of the early evening as he decided to walk home from the shop, he had a lot to work out in his mind.

His head down he watched his feet as he walked. Music played through his headphones, but his mind was so distracted that he couldn’t focus on the lyrics; he couldn’t stop his mind from racing. Why wasn’t he afraid of being watched? Most people would have gone to the police if they found out that someone had been inside their apartment multiple times without being invited but something inside of him had chosen to not be afraid of this man; not to feel threatened. Familiarity and curiosity. 

He walked through the door of his apartment building nearly an hour later, while his feet ached from the long walk, his mind felt refreshed. A long, cathartic walk was exactly what he needed. He stepped up to the wall of mailboxes and opened his to retrieve his mail for the day. Bill, Bill, neighborhood newsletter, bill and a single sheet of paper folded in half. He unfolded it and found a verse, handwritten in pen:

_“For the one I love most lay sleeping_  
By me under the same cover in the cool night,  
In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined  
Toward me, and his arm lay lightly around my  
Breast – and that night I was happy.” 

He could feel his heart race for a long while until his brain caught up to the words that he had just read. He knew them, he knew these words so intimately. He folded the paper back up and bounded up the stairs as fast as his lungs could allow. He unlocked his apartment door and rushed inside. Without much thinking, he hurried to his bookcase, once again taking notice that things on the shelf looked just the slightest bit off. He pulled out _Leaves of Grass_ and flipped quickly through the pages of prose until he got to the right page. A photo fell out from between page 119 just as he got to it; Steve grabbed it out of the air before it hit the ground. He looked at the image and tried to make sense of it.

Another old photograph, black and white just like the one before it. A hot dog stand with the name Nathan’s on the awning. The rest of the photo was crowded, so many things to look at. People off to one side with smiles on all their faces, people in line for fresh hot dogs, a large menu next to the ordering menu listing prices. Steve flipped the photograph over and in the usual scrawl were the words, “His favorite. Coney Island, 1939.” He couldn’t explain the flutter that began in the pit of his stomach. He searched his memories for anytime he had been to Coney Island but there was nothing, he was positive that he had never been there in his life. The nervous excitement was quickly turning into frustration. He didn’t know what to make of these poems and photographs, he couldn’t understand why these things would be left for him to discover and decipher. He just wanted answers. 

“What does this mean?!” He shouted out towards the window in his living room. He waited for some kind of sign that the mysterious man was watching him but there was none. Steve sighed and went to stash the poem and photo with the others. While some of these objects, like the poems, felt familiar he couldn’t help but like he was missing something; a piece of the puzzle.

 

The mystery man, James, stood in a starkly lit room, the walls all lined with screens and computer monitors; fluorescent lights above him gave everything a very sterile look. He stood in his full tac suit, leather straps across his chest and legs hid several knives from plain sight but his guns sat on a table top to his left. His shaggy brown hair was up in a knot so that it could be kept out of his eyes while they were laser focused on his surveillance footage. Back and forth he watched images of a large steel door, fast-forwarding and rewinding the footage at the slightest sign of movement. 

The door opened, and Natasha walked through, the door sliding closed behind her. James’ eyes tracked her movement for a moment before looking back at his screen.

“Hill thinks this bunker could be another Hydra covert ops location. I put a bug across the street, so we could track their activity.” He said, all business; just as he always had been.

“Let me know when you find something. Until then, I want to talk about this.” Natasha spoke as she presented James with a manila folder. He looked at her for a moment, looking for a signal in her eyes that could give him a way out, but her stare was cold and unflinching. He paused his video and took the folder from her. Flipping it open, the first photograph that he saw was of himself in civilian clothes, standing in line at a coffee shop. The same coffee shop that was across the street from Steve’s bookstore. He flipped to the next photo, another of him. This time standing outside of Steve’s bookshop, his metal fingers clear in the picture, reaching out to touch the pages of some paperbacks. The third photograph looked like it had been taken from some distance away. James was sitting with his denim clad legs crossed, perched on a small fire escape. His coat collar pulled up against his neck, a glass of iced tea being gently cradled by both hands; flesh and metal. He closed the folder and tossed it on the table beside him.

“What the fuck is this? You’re spying on _me_ now?” He asked, his voice deep and even which was even scarier than Natasha expected it to be. She would have preferred it if he had started yelling at her; but she hid it well. James’ frustration level increased by the second because Natasha was doing an incredible job of looking unfazed. 

“When my partner starts acting out of character and disappearing without a word than yes. You wouldn’t talk to me, James. You completely shut me out, so I had to go and find out what was going on for myself.” Natasha spoke with an even clarity that James couldn’t escape from. He turned away from her, leaning against the edge of his surveillance console, feeling like his knees could give out at any moment. 

“What do you know?” James asked. So quietly that Natasha wasn’t even sure that she had heard him correctly.

“I know who he is and how he came to be here. What I don’t know is who he is to you…” She was testing the water, he could tell, and it made him smile a bit. She continued before he could ask her any leading questions.

“Steven Grant Rogers, born in Brooklyn, New York—”

“Manhattan.” James said gently. 

“Excuse me?”

“He was actually born in Manhattan; most people get that wrong. His parents moved to Brooklyn when he was a baby but…” James explained with the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He looked up at Natasha and she gave him a small smile, encouraging him to continue. “I didn’t meet him until he was nine, I had just turned ten. Our Moms were friends and they had introduced us and from that day forward, we were inseparable. At school, at home; where there was me, there was him.” There was static air between the two of them, never in her years of knowing him had he ever told her anything about himself before he became the Soldier. She had imagined that he always been a tool for Hydra or a tool for S.H.I.E.L.D.; that there was no life for him before then. 

“I never knew what happened to him after I left him in Brooklyn for the War. I always imagined that he lived out his days, maybe got married. I never came back…and I never knew what happened.” He turned back to look at Natasha and she saw tears welling up against his lower eyelids. She was shocked right where she stood, she didn’t know what to say or do, she had never experienced him like this. Vulnerable. He didn’t speak again, looking to Natasha to give him an explanation.

“He was recruited by the founding members of S.H.I.E.L.D. to be the first test subject for the Super Soldier Serum.” James closed his eyes and his posture fell slack. He had only heard bits and pieces about the botched experiments to perfect the Super Soldier Serum; the same Serum that Hydra had tried to get their hands on for years and years. The very same botched serum that flowed through his veins, turning him into a weapon for Hydra for decades past his due date. 

“He didn’t become the Super Soldier they expected, he became the Nomad.” Natasha spoke gently, she didn’t want to overwhelm him with too much information. The pain in his eyes was evident, it traveled through his entire body. 

“They kept him on ice all these years and used him only when they needed?” James asked but Natasha couldn’t tell if he was asking her or if he was just testing the words, saying them out loud to see if he could accept them as truth. She slowly nodded her head anyway. James lifted his flesh hand and used his fingers to press against his eyelids, the pressure of it was almost painful and exactly what James wanted. He wanted to hurt. So much wasted time. Natasha took a step forward and reached for his hands, taking them in her own and holding onto them tight.

“Look at me, James.” She commanded, and he did what he was told. His blue eyes were surrounded by redness and tears and for the first time since she had become his partner, her heart hurt for him. “When Hydra was discovered inside S.H.I.E.L.D. they wanted to destroy the Nomad, but his handler helped him escape. His mind was whipped clean in order to protect him. That’s why he doesn’t remember you, but I’m guessing you’ve already figured that part out.” A tear rolled down his scruffy cheek as he nodded his head. Of course, he already knew that Steve couldn’t remember him or anything about their lives before the War, it had been evident the first time James had run into him in the street. Steve had looked right at him and smiled, the kind of smile you give a stranger when you find you are the only two people standing on the same street corner. A gentle yet dismissive smile. 

“He’ll remember me.” James removed his hands from Natasha’s and stepped away from her. He didn’t like this feeling, laying it all bare for someone else to see. He cared for Natasha because she was his partner but that didn’t mean that she had to know or understand this side of him.

“Maybe he won’t, you have to understand that.” Natasha watched as James started to walk away from her, towards the sliding door of his surveillance room. She called out to him, but he didn’t stop. He figured now it was time to step it up, he knew how disorienting and real getting your mind whipped is, if sending Steve lines from his favorite poems and photographs of the places they had gone together wasn’t enough then it was time to try a different tactic.

 

Days had passed, and Steve hadn’t received any new poem excerpts or records or photographs. He knew it was stupid to feel disappointed but that didn’t stop his irrational mind from thinking that way. He would wake up and look out the window, hoping to see a sign that his mystery savior was nearby but there was nothing. He woke up every morning, got dressed, had his coffee and went to work. Sometimes taking the bus or sometimes walking. Sometimes it was raining and other days there wasn’t a rain cloud in the sky. He lived through the monotony of those days in a complete haze. Tonight, he sat on the floor of the bookshop, going through his fiction section A-G, making sure that they were in alphabetical order by author. It was a bit late, the store was already closed; only the lights of the display windows were on and one small lamp inside so that he could see his handy work. He enjoyed this kind of work, especially on a night like tonight when his mind was racing, work was a welcome distraction.

As he was aligning all his copies of Andre Aciman novels along his dark wood shelves, he heard a gentle knock at the door. It was well past closing time and he figured most people could tell that they shop was closed just by looking at it, so he decided to ignore it. Most people wouldn’t be able to see him either unless they looked inside the store hard enough. Seconds passed, and the knocking came again. Steve sighed and furrowed his eyebrows before standing up from his piles of books. He went over to the door of the shop and looked to see who was standing at the door, interrupting him while the store was closed.

Standing there, illuminated by the pendulous lights of the awning, was James. He was in his civilian clothing, dark jeans and his navy coat. His hair was clean and down, brushing against the shoulders of his coat. Underneath his scruff from the last few days was a strong jaw, Steve almost laughed at the fact that his mind went straight to that. Their eyes met and that same flutter that Steve had felt from the poems and the Billie Holiday record resurfaced in the pit of his stomach. All this time and now all that stood between them was a few sheets of glass that made up the shop door. With bright lights shining down on his face, Steve took a moment to memorize the color of his eyes. Blue like the ocean, not like any ocean Steve had ever seen; they were bright and inviting.  


Steve reached for the deadbolt and turned it to unlock the door. He opened it and the whining of the bolts echoed around them. Steve stood between the door and the shop, leaning slightly against the door frame. James looked at every surface of him, almost not believing that all these years later and everything that they both had been through – they were standing in front of each other once again. He was still small, like James remembered, his hair still flopped the same on top but looked shorter and styled on the sides, that was new. His clothing was fitted and clean and it looked like it had been made just to fit his slender frame.

It had been quiet for too long, not that the silence was uncomfortable but usually people would have said something to each other by now. James put his hands in his pockets and then thought better of that, so he pulled them out of his pockets. He messed with his hair, pushing one side of it behind his ears. Steve all watched this with silent interest, like he was memorizing all the movements of James’ eyes and hands. Finally, James spoke.

“My name is James Barnes…and I’m your friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too long of a chapter, with just a touch more exposition. The next chapter is going to be lots of fun.  
> Chapter title from another one of Whitman's poems, can you tell he's my favorite?
> 
> Any thoughts or questions, you can visit me at [hanakimicali](http://hanakimicali.tumblr.com/)


	5. When All Waters Still

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and James finally speak and Steve eventually gets some answers, but not the ones he was expecting.

Steve laughed a bit, he couldn’t help it. He stood in the doorway of the shop, his mystery man standing in front of him. He knew it was an odd reaction and probably not one that the man had been expecting but there was no stopping or changing his reaction.

“You’re my friend? Don’t you think following me around and sneaking into my apartment are weird things for a friend to do?” Steve said with an ironic smile. His questioning made James switch back and forth from one foot to another, like he could turn around and run at any moment. He wasn't used to this feeling anymore, most people tended to be afraid of him. Steve didn't seem to have anything that he was truly afraid of.

“I want to explain, if you let me?” James said as he wrung his hands together. Steve took note that his left hand was covered by a glove; a hand that he was pretty sure was unlike any other hand he had ever seen. Steve looked him in the eyes and he could tell that the man standing before him was being completely earnest. His logical mind couldn’t explain it, he trusted this man. He took a step back from the doorway, just enough space for James to walk into the shop. A split-second look of hesitation crossed over James’ face until he slipped through the threshold. Steve closed the shop door behind him and re-locked the deadbolt. He watched as James looked around, taking everything in; perusing the shelves.

“I almost came into the shop at least a dozen times. Never built up enough courage to come inside, it’s beautiful in here.” James said as he turned back to look at Steve. The line between his brows told James just how confused he was without having to say it out loud. James wanted to start talking and not stop, spill everything from the beginning but he knew that Steve would just write him off as crazy. He had to start slow, build the past back together, layer on top of layer until the whole picture presented itself.

“That would have been a more conventional way to begin a friendship.” Steve said, the serious look on his face translated to his tone of voice. Although he was happy to finally be talking to this stranger, Steve felt that the time to be coy was over; he wanted answers. James pursed his lips and tried to think of the best way to say what he wanted to say. Without sounding crazy but, he lived it and it still sounded crazy.

“Do you think it’s possible to have lived two lives at once?” James found himself asking quietly, he didn’t need to look at Steve’s confused expression to know that his question sounded ridiculous.

“I don’t understand what you’re asking.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest. James didn’t know how to explain everything in his head. This was the most he had even spoken to a person in years, most of the time he just gives his superiors monosyllabic answers; he told Natasha as little about himself as he could get away with. It felt good to talk to someone, but he didn’t know which thought to say first, where to begin.

“Have you ever woken up from a dream about another time, but it felt so real? Or gotten déjà vu from a place that you absolutely know you have never been before?” The line between Steve’s eyebrows lessened for a split second, his eyes looked as if he was far away. Lost in his thoughts, trying to grab at hazy memories. When he spoke, it was slow and calculated; each word being chosen carefully.

“Sometimes I have this dream... I’m lying on a mattress on the floor, my arms and legs feel cold…someone comes up behind me and…wraps me up in a blanket…” Steve closes his eyes to try and get closer to the memory of his dream. James couldn’t stop himself, he took a tentative step closer to Steve. The first signs of tears in his eyes reflecting against the easy lamp light. “I can smell salt water and soot and-“ Steve stopped. He opened his eyes and was surprised to see James standing closer to him. He noticed the tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks but didn’t say anything about them.

“It’s just a dream. People have reoccurring dreams all the time.” He punctuated his words with a shrug. It was beginning to feel unusually warm inside the shop, Steve was wishing that he wasn’t wearing such a thick sweater.

“What if it wasn’t a dream, what if it was a memory?” James offered gently as he wrung his hands together in front of him, trying and failing to hide his nervousness; Steve took notice. He thought that this had to be the craziest thing he had experienced in a long time. This man, who was still a complete stranger to him, was telling him that his dreams were just memories. 

“That's impossible.” He heard the words come out but there was doubt interlaced between each one. He didn’t believe his own words. James took another step closer, Steve didn’t back away. Standing this close, Steve had to crane his neck to look up into James’ piercing blue eyes.

“Nothing is impossible.” James whispered, and Steve scoffed back, wanting to roll his eyes at how predictable the words sounded but he stopped himself. He felt that James was towering over him now, they were standing so close. Steve could feel his heard pounding in his chest, he couldn’t quite put his finger on whether he felt safe or afraid. He couldn’t control his emotions or his actions as he reached out slowly for James’ left hand. James froze in place, no one ever tried to touch him, let alone touch his metal arm. Steve hesitated for a second before using both of his small hands to take off the well-worn black glove that covered James’ metal hand; the leather worn rough from constant use. Once it was off, James looked to Steve’s eyes to try and gauge his reaction but Steve’s eyes themselves never left the gleaming steel; it shown brightly from the lights surrounding them.

“Like having a metal arm?” Steve asked, his voice just above a whisper. He took his index finger and traced a line along the palm of James’ metal hand. James closed his eyes and huffed out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in. Steve looked up at him at the reaction, but James still had his eyes closed. 

“Can you feel that?” Steve asked, red travelling across his cheeks and neck. James only nodded, the air around them was thick like sinking sand; neither of them daring to move so they both stood still. Steve felt almost silly, he knew virtually nothing about this person and yet, there he was. Standing alone in a locked shop; possibly entertaining the idea that any of his dreams could have been more than that. He continued to hold James’ hand in both of his but after long minutes of static breathing surrounding him, Steve spoke.

“If my dreams are actually memories then what does that make me?” He asked, and James finally opened his eyes, pulling his attention away from Steve’s hands to gaze into his wide-eyed blues. A small, sad smile told a story that spanned across his face.

“A man out of time.” Each word brought forth a sadness from deep within him. “Just like me.” James took a step back, his metal arm dropping between the two of them. He looked like he was about to unlock the door and leave Steve there without another word. It wasn’t enough, Steve needed more than that.

“You can’t just go, not now. I…I need more.” He was almost desperate, he had just begun to learn about himself, he couldn’t just stop. He hated himself for sounding so small, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted answers, he needed them.

“I’m leaving but I’m not going anywhere.” James said. God, he wanted to stay. He wanted to sit Steve down, start at the beginning and tell him everything but he knew that truly wouldn’t accomplish anything. Details of their lives sounded too unbelievable. He wanted to explain everything and be honest, not have Steve think he was insane. Steve barely felt himself blink and James was gone; Steve was once again alone in the bookshop. He locked the front door again and noted that a stillness had fallen over the shop once again. While James had been there he felt a hurricane; the air around them swimming and moving constantly; electric. Now that he wasn’t there, Steve felt the weight of quietness baring down on his shoulders. 

 

The first thing he did when he got home was pull out his laptop and Google “James Barnes” and the first page of search results gave him a mixture of intense headlines, (“Is WWII veteran really Winter Soldier?”, “Winter Soldier responsible for UN Summit bombing?”, “The Winter Soldier is a hero, don’t @ me!”.) but the first link that he actually clicked on was his Wikipedia page. He wondered how someone like James could have a Wikipedia page but the world these days was a curious place. The first thing he noticed on the page was the photograph, it was old. Black and white, of a young man in a perfectly crisp looking U.S. Army uniform. It looked like James but the man in the photo looked so young and fresh faced; the exact opposite of the man who had been in the shop with him tonight.

**“James Buchanan Barnes (b. 1917- KIA 1944/2011-Present)."**

He read and reread the dates, over and over until a sharp pain began between his eyebrows. He continued to scroll and skim through the biography.

“James Barnes was born in Indiana in 1917, his family relocating to Brooklyn, New York shortly after his birth because his father was killed in action during WWI. Good in school, held down a steady job at the shipping docks from the age of 14. He was drafted in 1941 and sent to England. Eventually earning the rank of Sergeant, Barnes ran a team of soldiers that specialized in locating Hydra bases and immobilizing them. In 1944, during a covert mission somewhere in what used to be the Soviet Union, Hydra cornered Barnes and his team. Some survived the attack, but Barnes was never found. In 1945, his status was changed from MIA to Killed in Action. His surviving family members were presented with a Distinguished Service Cross in an intimate ceremony in Washington D.C. Notable speakers were newly appointed President Harry S. Truman, Colonel Chester Phillips. His mother and sister, Rebecca were joined by the surviving members of Barnes’ team and close family friend, Steven Rogers.” He froze. His rational mind of course was telling him that the name was incredibly common, it was just a coincidence. The other part of his brain was screaming at him, telling him that of course this couldn’t be true. Somehow this was an incredibly elaborate prank.

Born in 1917? James looked thirty, at most; not 100 years old. He knew that these days impossible things happened all the time, but this was almost too crazy to believe. He clicked back to Google and hit the next link. A YouTube video titled, “Director Fury hounded by Questioning: S.H.I.E.L.D. press conference.” It was dated just over two years ago. A thrill ran through his stomach as the video buffered. A man’s face appeared on screen, one eye obscured by an eye-patch, the rest of him looking incredibly tired; like he had been answering questions for hours.

“Sir, I’m from the Post. I’m just wondering what kind of security measures your team and yourself are taking so that you can avoid an infiltration like this from happening again?” A voice off screen asked and the man, Fury answered right away. He had some of these answers prepped and ready to go.

“We have brought in technology and espionage specialists who are working around the clock to keep these kinds of things out of our organization. S.H.I.E.L.D. is still committed to keeping this world safe from anyone or anything that tries to threaten it.” He finished but the reported wasn’t done just yet.

“Is it true that the Winter Soldier is one of those agents? Doesn’t it seem out of place to employ a previous agent of Hydra to keep Hydra out of our government?” The reaction of Fury was palpable, even through the small video screen Steve was watching from.

“I assure you, Sergeant Barnes has been working with us since the fall of Hydra and his mind has been cleared of their influence. Who better to hunt them down from the inside then someone who has been on the inside themselves? As someone who’s a decorated war veteran you think he would have earned a bit more respect than what your showing him. That’s all for your questions.” Director Fury said with finality before stepping away from the microphone and out of frame. Steve continued to watch the screen even after it went black, his brain was trying to process and make sense out of everything that he had just read and watched.

Something he knew for a fact was that people don’t live forever. He stood from the love seat and stood in the middle of his living room and felt completely lost. He looked around the room, at all his possessions and he felt like none of them belonged to him. Usually he felt comfort in his books and his blankets but looking at them now, he felt like they belonged to someone else. The muscles in his chest constricted and tears began to pool inside his eyelids. He didn’t know why he wanted to cry but his body was overcome with the feeling. What was he crying for? A life that wasn’t his?

Once the first tear hit his cheek, it opened the flood gates. He found himself unable to stop the steady flow of tears. He stepped over to his record player and found that his Billie Holiday record was still inside. Now he could only think of how James must have put the record there to try and jog his memory, awaken something inside of himself that he didn’t realize he had been repressing. He put on the record and let the piano tones wash over him, the melancholy of the song guiding his tears out with its melody. He laid down on his love seat, pulling his knees up his body and wrapped his thin arms around himself. His cheeks were streaked with wetness and skin blotched red from his overwhelming emotion.

“Please remember…please remember…” He repeated the words to himself like a mantra. Closing his eyes tight and tried to search his tired mind for some kind of lost memory but his mind couldn’t land on one single thing. It was overwhelmingly frustrating; he knew he had to get some answers. He couldn’t just lay there and wait for the answers to fall into place. He stood from the love seat, resolve suddenly thrumming through his veins. If answers weren’t just going to present themselves to him then he was going to have to go out and get them himself. He walked towards the front door, grabbed his jacket and he was out the door once again; out into the cold night.

 

There was an endless stream of loud knocks at the door that pulled Sam out of his restful sleep. He pulled himself out of bed, the sound echoing through his apartment; putting every cell of himself on high alert. He approached the front door with caution, most people didn’t go knocking on people’s doors in East Harlem in the middle of the night. He looked through the peep hole on his door and was relieved to see the top of Steve’s head on the other side. His relief quickly turned to concern because it was the middle of the night and Steve never showed up anywhere unannounced. 

He opened the door and Steve breathed out a huff air, glad to stop knocking. His knuckles red with constant contact with the heavy door and Sam wondered how long he had been knocking before it had woken him up. He immediately noticed that Steve’s eyes were red and sad, his friend had been crying and for a long time. He ushered the man inside without a word; closing the door and locking it behind him.

“Steve, what are you doing here?” Sam asked, and Steve just shrugged. He used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the streaks of tears off his face.

“I don’t know, I think I’m going crazy.” Steve’s voice was quivering, he couldn’t control it. Sam could tell that he was shaking like a leaf even though he was bundled up. A million thoughts swam through Sam’s mind, but he didn’t want to crowd the smaller man. He watched as Steve paced back and forth through his small apartment.

“Who am I?” Steve finally asked, and Sam was taken aback; that was the question that had been weighing on Steve all night. Sam was at a loss; how could he possibly answer that without completely ripping apart everything that Steve knew about his life?

“You’re Steve Rogers.” Sam answered quickly but it wasn’t enough, and he knew it.

“Am I the Steve Rogers that was born in 1992 or am I the Steve Rogers that attended his best friends funeral in 1945?” Steve asked, his voice strained from another sob threatening to escape. He knew it sounded insane, but he asked it anyway. Sam froze and processed what Steve had said; he glanced down at his feet to avoid Steve’s glassy blue eyes.

“Shit…” Sam muttered under his breath and Steve knew what that reaction meant. It was true. Steve stopped pacing, walked over to the couch and sat; he wasn’t sure how much longer his legs could support him. A silent tear slipped down the full length of his cheek. He tried his best to take deep, calming breaths but he felt like he couldn’t fill his lungs completely; he was breathing but it felt like suffocation. All Sam could do was watch him helplessly. He always thought he would feel relief when Steve eventually learned the truth, instead he felt like a traitor; betraying the confidence of his closest friend. 

“For the last few years…” Steve gravelly voice broke through the quiet. “…I’ve had dreams. I always wrote them off as an overactive mind but in my dreams, I was always cold. Wandering through streets of New York, they should have been familiar, but they were old…or in an old apartment, one that didn’t belong to me. I would be shivering uncontrollably until arms would come from behind and wrap around me. Sometimes I could turn around and look into this person’s eyes, blue like an unpolluted sky but I could never see their whole face. I couldn’t ever speak words in my dreams. I could only speak in numbers, 32557038, over and over and over and I don’t know what it means.” He looked up at Sam for some guidance and that look, that completely lost look that Steve wore across his face nearly broke Sam. It reminded him of how Steve looked at him five years ago, asking Sam to wipe his memory to save. He knew then the memories that he was choosing to erase, the minute details of his love that he was willing to give up so that Hydra wouldn’t get ahold of secrets far more revealing. Sam didn’t regret what he did to protect Steve because it had kept him safe all these years, but he couldn’t help his heart from breaking for his friend.

“They aren’t dreams…” Sam said, uncrossing his arms so Steve wouldn’t interpret his stance as too guarded. “I think they’re remnants of memories, your brain working overtime to remember things that were erased.” Sam tried to explain.

“Erased? How do I get them back?” Steve said, his steel gaze boring a hole in Sam.

“I don’t know if you can…” Sam said gently. He could tell that Steve was frustrated and it was just building up inside of him, threatening everything around him with signs of a coming eruption. “James…he could be the key to unlocking all of this though.” Sam knew this was dangerous, as Steve’s handler he was supposed to keep him safe and away from any potential danger, not tell his best friend to go chasing down memories in the shape of the former Winter Soldier. He knew what the man had done before coming to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. but he couldn’t lie to Steve either. Steve was still, taking everything in as best he could.

“Tell me everything.” Steve said, resolve dripping through every word. Sam wasn’t sure what to do or say, all he knew was that he would go to the ends of the earth for Steve, if he needed answers, of course he would give him that. There was always a part of him that had always known that this day would come. Was it Steve’s steel resolve or the serum patching his brain back together, there was no way to be sure. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep lying. He sat down on the couch next to his friend and began to explain everything. Slowly and painstakingly, answering Steve’s burning questions as best he could. When all was said and done it was well into the night and Steve’s body ached for sleep. It was past appropriate time for Steve to take public transit home, so Sam brought out all the pillows and blankets that he could find in his hall closet and set him up on the couch.

Sam was about to retreat to the safety of his bedroom when Steve called out for him. His voice soft like he was calling across a great distance, but Sam understood it as a result of exhaustion; he was mentally drained to oblivion. 

“Do you know anything about me and James…about us before the War?” Steve asked, he wasn’t usually a shy person, but he couldn’t stop the red that twinkled against the paleness of his cheeks. Sam didn’t know what to say at first, he remembered Natasha telling him that James had been watching Steve, following him; but he didn’t know if Steve knew any of that.

“I don’t think many people do that are still alive. You never talked about him much, all you ever told me was that the two of you shared an apartment in Crown Heights before he was shipped off.” Sam said, watching Steve look off into the middle distance; once again lost in trying to discern between memories and reality. Sam nodded to himself and escaped to his bedroom. He was happy to be alone, away from his friends pleading eyes.

Steve lay still on the couch, heavy, soft blankets weighing down on his chilled body. His cold fingers pushed his hair out of his eyes as he tried his best to relax. Recollections of strong arms enveloping him kept bombarding his line of thinking. He always thought it was wishful daydreaming but now he thought better; this was an honest to goodness memory. One that was so strong that it was pushing its way to the surface. He closed his eyes to chase it down, the nighttime sounds of the city lulled him into a fitful sleep. 

_His body was freezing, he couldn’t understand why; he was in bed with his sweater on, the sleeves pulled down over his hands and his thick wool socks pulled up as high as he could get them. Even with all his layers and his blankets surrounding him, he couldn’t fight off the cold. He was tossing and turning, rubbing one foot across the other, trying to warm them from the friction, no matter how much he tried, the cold refused to leave him. He let out a huff of air, a frustrated sigh that caught the attention of the person sharing the bed beside him._

_The person turned to wrap their arms around Steve’s frail ribcage; he was suddenly swathed in a blanket of warmth down the length of his shoulders to the back of his knees. His sighs of frustration turned to sighs of relief, he cherished the feeling of strong arms encasing him._

_“You’re tossing and turning.” A deep voice spoke just beside his ear, all he could hear was the steady breathing next to him. Steve wrapped his hands around the arms that held him, trying to pull him as close as he could; wanting the fire to sink deep down to his bones._

_“It will be a miracle if I survive through this winter.” Steve said, not quite thinking through the words that he was saying, or the affect that they could have on his current company. He felt the man’s arms stiffen and his breathing catch for a moment before he brushed it off and shrugged his shoulders; his chin resting on the back of Steve’s shoulders._

_“I overheard my boss talking about how he got one of those fancy new oil heaters, maybe we can stay with him when it gets really bad.” He said, trying to make it sound like a casual suggestion, nothing to get defensive about._

_“You know I don’t want any handouts, I can take care of myself.” Steve said, his voice deep and determined. A small huff of laughter escaped from the man behind him. He felt the arms loosen around him and suddenly, he was being turned around so that they were looking face to face. For a moment, Steve missed the feeling of heat up against his back; when he felt nimble fingers pushing his fair hair out of his eyes he forgot all that there was to be irritated about. There was no cold, no springs in the mattress poking into his side. Just soft touches and sky-blue eyes looking back into his. He closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of hands tracing all the soft and sharp lines of his face and neck._

_“I know better than anyone.” The voice came out as a whisper and a tremble traveled up his spine. He felt soft lips travel down his jaw line to settle in the crook between his neck and shoulder, on instinct Steve fingers went up and into his dark hair; short on the sides but plenty to hold onto on top. The shivers and trembles and shaky breathes were things that he could never get enough of; if he could have moments just like these every day there would be no reason to leave this apartment. The world could move on without them, he had everything that he needed right here in his bed. Growing impatient with the slow and steady ministrations being done to his neck, Steve tightened his grip on the man’s hair and coaxed him upwards. Leading his lips to the others._

_“Come on Buck, kiss me already.” He said, all his cold and bitterness melting away at the sound of laughter surrounding him. He memorized every crinkle beside his eyes before closing his to the world. Just before soft lips grazed against his, his memory went foggy._

No, not yet. Let me remember the feeling.

Steve opened his eyes, his vision taking it’s time adjusting to the light streaming in through the windows of the sixth-floor apartment. Echoes of honking, loud chatter from down below broke him out of his reverie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Titles from the song "All Waters" by Perfume Genius and it's one of my most favorite Pre-War Stucky songs, I suggest it to anyone who likes good music.  
> I'll be gone for the next week, going home to spend time with my family but will post a new chapter when I come back!
> 
> As always, you can visit me at [hanakimicali](http://hanakimicali.tumblr.com/)


	6. May I Have This Dance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and James dance.

Steve didn’t want to be at work, it all seemed so pointless. Why should he bother going about his day to day when he had just learned that it was all a lie? Whose life was this? Who was the one who got to decide who he was playing? Was this personality even his own or was it someone’s creation? He was glad Kamala wasn’t working until later in the day, he wasn’t sure he could face her this morning. Was she in on all of it? How many people surrounded him each day that knew about his past and had to pretend that he was Steve Rogers: Art school graduate and poetry enthusiast? It all felt like too much for him to handle. 

It was still an hour to go until it was time to open the shop; he could hardly sleep last night so he decided to go into work early and work on a new window display. It was two days ago now that he had woken up in Sam’s apartment, he hasn’t had a restful sleep since then. His curious and impatient mind was keeping him awake for impossible lengths of time. He hasn’t seen or even caught a glimpse of James since he was last in the shop. Was he expecting Steve to hunt down some answers before making another appearance? Even though Sam had explained everything to the best of his ability, about the Army and about the Nomad project, it still didn’t feel like it had happened to him. It was someone else’s life completely. Even with all the secrets surrounding his military service and the services that he provided to S.H.I.E.L.D., those weren’t the answers that he was looking to explore further. He wanted to know about his childhood, his mother and what life was like back before the War; he wanted to know about James. How they were as kids, games they played, how he was as a teenager and how they navigated adulthood in the 1930’s and 1940’s. He could read about it all in books, but he wanted to know how they did it through James’ recollections. 

Steve continued to hang banners up in the shops windows, making sure everything was level and looking good for potential customers, he was trying to get the corner of the banner to catch onto the hook when he was momentarily blinded by a light shining in his eyes. He looked out into the early morning traffic outside the shop; his eyes scanning everywhere to find the source, though he already knew who it was. Finally, he saw James. Across the street, casually leaning against the brick wall of the alleyway next to his coffee shop. He wore his usual navy coat and had a baseball cap pulled down, shielding his eyes from Steve. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, so Steve could spot the gleam of his metal hand peeking out from his sleeve. Steve couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him; part of him knew that James wasn’t going anywhere but he hadn’t seen him in days and that caused his overactive imagination to play with him in cruel ways. Steve motioned with his head, a nod in James’ direction and pointing towards the back of the shop. He hoped that James would understand that Steve wanted him to come around to the back of the building to be let into the shop. James made what could be interpreted as a smirk and started to walk around the block, so Steve assumed that he did. Steve climbed out of the window display and moved through the shop to get to the back entrance. 

He stopped into the small bathroom quickly, standing in front of the mirror he gave himself a once over. He knew it was completely superficial, but he couldn’t help himself. He fixed the collar of his cowl neck sweater and smoothed his hair down with his lean fingers. James made him nervous, it wasn’t something that could be helped. He recognized the attractiveness of James; no amount of memory erasing experiments could change that. His dreams didn’t help, though the man’s face still wasn’t completely in focus to his mind’s eye, the blue of his eyes was familiar. His stomach fluttered just thinking about them. He went over to the back door and waited to see if James would show up. Sure enough, a minute later there was a gentle knock at the door. 

That endless flutter was ever present when Steve opened the door and their eyes met. James looked stern as always, as if he was always seconds away from making an escape; something in his eyes burned bright. There was a spark alight that Steve didn’t remember seeing before. Wordlessly, Steve opened the door further, so James could come inside. He closed the door behind him and latched the lock. The backroom was small, a desk off to one side; covered in stacks of paper and books. The walls were lined with boxes that were filled with more books, waiting to grace the shelves. This left little room to stand together without feeling like they were practically on top of each other. James was usually excellent at hiding his emotions on his face but being this close to Steve, caused a flush to wrap from the back of his neck to his clavicles. All he had to do was tip his head down and Steve was right there. Both easily recognized the nervousness present in each other them and they struggled to hide their blushes from each other. Someone had to break and speak first, Steve decided it may as well be him. He cleared his throat and James gave him his undivided attention.

“Those photographs you leave for me…did you take them?” Steve thought it was an easy place to start, he didn’t know how many more deep explanations of his past his fragile mind could try and process. James just nodded, stepping off to the side a bit, towards the hall that led into the store front. Steve followed behind him, watching intently as James’ metal fingers traced across the spine of books; so gently that they hardly moved beneath him. 

“Some of them. I was hoping that just looking at them would trigger some memories for you.” He looked at the items that were sprawled across the counter where Steve spent most of his time. iPhone, headphones and what looked like a leather-bound journal sat on the counter top, a well-worn backpack sat haphazardly on the ground beside his stool. James wondered if his gentle touch would leave an impression on the leather. “Do you remember anything?” James asked, the first hint in his voice of hopefulness. He looked back towards Steve, who stood at attention in the doorway. He arms crossed as he leaned against the bannister. He shook his head; James did his best to shield his disappointment from his face, but it seemed that Steve noticed anyway; he spoke quickly to try and smooth the situation.

“But, I believe you and I believe Sam. He wouldn’t lie to me about something like this. To think I voluntarily erased my own memories…erased you. It all seems- “

“Crazy?” James finished. He leaned against the counter, mimicking Steve’s posture. Steve smiled and walked further into the room. He needed to distract his hands, their natural pull was towards James and Steve didn’t want to confuse himself more by adding another variable. He went to his favorite table in the entire shop, right beside the counter; his banned books display. It had it all, Fahrenheit 451, the Harry Potter series, Animal Farm and his favorite, lesser known books; The Gulag Archipelago and Candide. He couldn’t control his hands, he started fiddling with the books on display and the overflow that was underneath the table; James just watched him patiently. After a while of quiet companionship, Steve straightened up on his feet and looked back at James. He had needed the quiet, thousands of thoughts were swimming through his mind and he needed time to focus them, set them into categories of importance and move on from there.

“I think my mind is trying to right things. Pull back layers of built up stories to find the truth. During the day I can’t focus on anything but in my dreams…it’s like I’m being pulled into focus.” James couldn’t help but cling onto every word he was saying. Steve stepped towards James whose trembling hand reached up to brush the blonde hair out of his eyes. He could see the slightest tremor pass through Steve, unnoticed by anyone without his well-trained eyes. If he held still for long enough he could probably sense the rapid heartbeat inside of Steve’s chest as well.

“We shared an apartment, right? Back then?” Steve asked so sincerely that James couldn’t help but crack the tiniest of smiles. Steve tried to smile back but his nervousness overtook him, and he could only watch and wait.

“We lived together, yes.” James answered, Steve found the wording curious and it raised about twenty new questions that his mind was trying to process. He didn’t know where to start.

“Didn’t our neighbors talk? Two grown men living together? Things were a lot different back then than they are now.” James understood what he was saying without completely saying it. James never thought he would have to go through this part again. The good part about being a top-secret asset of an evil regime is that no one cared about who was behind the gun. Even S.H.I.E.L.D didn’t really seem to care about who he was and the life he lived before they started working for them; if he got the job done what did it matter? 

“They knew, and they kept quiet. Everyone loved you.” There was so much there to unpack. Steve stepped even closer to James, who tensed right where he stood; still not completely comfortable with having Steve in such proximity. Steve looked up to his face, taking in all the fine details. The stubble across his cheeks, watching his jaw clench and unclench; this was difficult for both of them.

“Were we—” Steve was cut off by someone knocking on the glass window at the front of the shop. Steve looked and recognized it as a customer named Brenda, a regular who came in every day to look for new releases and to talk Steve’s ear off for a least an hour. She made a gesture towards the watch on her wrist and Steve realized that he was late for opening the shop. Steve turned to look at James, whose metal hand had reached for inside of his coat; he’d been reaching for his firearm out of instinct. When Steve realized this, his hand shot out towards his arm, grabbing him at the elbow and stopping him.

“Don’t. It’s just a customer. I need to open the shop.” James looked down at Steve’s hand on his elbow and then up into his pleading eyes. His hand fell from its holster and took ahold of Steve’s small hand instead. The metal felt cool against Steve’s skin. He wanted to close his eyes and savor the sensation, but Brenda was waiting.

“I should go.” James said, about to release Steve’s hand but Steve only gripped it tighter.

“Tonight. Can we talk?” Steve said and finally after being shifty-eyed during their entire conversation in the shop, James stopped and looked straight into Steve’s soft blue eyes. He waited to see if Steve was going to take it back, change his mind. Steve only smiled reassuringly. James nodded. He knew that no matter what Steve asked of him, he would agree to it. He slipped out of Steve’s grip and walked out of the back exit; leaving Steve to go about his daily tasks, though Steve’s heart just wasn’t in it after their encounter.

Halfway through the day, Kamala arrived and took over to close the shop for the evening and Steve made his way home. He decided to take the bus home, he wanted to get home as quickly as possible. He put his headphones in, letting his music flow through them and take him to another place.

 

When he arrived at the apartment, everything was still. Not a book or speck of dust out of place. Steve’s shoulders dropped, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat disappointed that James wasn’t there waiting for him. He set his backpack down by the front door and went into his kitchen to start the kettle. Once the water was on the stove top, Steve went into his bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes, his usual pullover sweater and flannel pajama bottoms. It was the middle of the day, but he didn’t stand on ceremony. Even if he was going to be alone he wanted to be comfortable. He went to work in the kitchen, picking out a mug for his tea and looking through his cabinet to find the exact flavor of tea that he wanted. He finally settled on the decaffeinated green tea, the slight bitterness was exactly what he needed for what he assumed would be a long night. He was instantly distracted by a knock at his window. He would have rolled his eyes if his heart hadn’t given him such a flutter. He walked over to the window and saw James crouched down on the fire escape, giving him a bashful wave. Steve abandoned thoughts of his tea as he unlocked the window, making way for James to climb inside. He was completely silent, well-practiced in the art of sneaking around. 

“Somehow, I wasn’t sure you were going to come.” Steve said nervously as he watched James straighten up and look around the apartment; like he hadn’t been there before. It was new for Steve, he imagined James in his private space but seeing him there was completely different; he looked larger or the space around him seemed to shrink. James wasn’t sure how to respond to Steve’s statement, how do you explain to someone who doesn’t remember you that you will always be there when he was asked? Did Steve even realize his own importance? He was about to stutter a response when Steve spoke for him as he stepped back into the kitchen; the kettle had started to whistle. 

“I’ve been thinking about something since this morning.” He started, and James listened patiently, his hands in his pockets as he watched Steve. He removed the kettle from the stove and poured the steaming water into his mug, the leaves beginning to steep. Without question, Steve pulled out another mug and tea bag from his cabinet, for James.

“That song, the Billie Holiday song…that has significance, right?” Steve asked, setting the mug of tea for James in front of him on the counter. Steve’s was too hot to drink but the warmth emitting from the mug was soothing to his chilled fingertips. James nodded, how much was he willing to share? If Steve couldn’t remember any of it was it truly worth it? Within his ageless mind the answer was always a resounding yes, he would tell the story as many times as it took for Steve to remember it.

“Tell me.” The softness in Steve’s pleading breath ripped through James. There was no way with a silky voice like that that James would be able to ever keep anything from him. Every muscle and bone in his body softened as he looked into Steve’s eyes; resolute and steady. He knew it back then just as he knew it now, he would do anything for him. James cleared his throat, running his flesh and bone hand across his eyes. Steve waited patiently, cataloging all the movements happening around him, creating new memories with James without even noticing he was doing so. Memorizing each sensation.

“It played the night of our first kiss.” James spoke with the kind of quiet confidence that sent shivers cascading through Steve’s body. It was an answer to one of the million questions that were constantly flowing through his mind: were they romantically involved? The thrum of excitement rushed from the top of his head, all the way to the tips of his toes. Steve set his mug down on the counter and walked towards his record player. He turned it on, the slick slice of plastic began to spin. He picked up the needle, set it down and the magical sound of crackling filled the apartment. Even though the window was open, James felt almost too warm. Sounds of his youth swam all around him, ethereal piano notes passing in the air between them. He could sense the nerves in both of them, he couldn’t think of the last time he experienced the pure physical sensation of nervousness. Steve turned to look at him, and his eyes did all the talking for him. James knew there was no denying him, he took a few long steps and was in Steve’s space. 

They stood together for a moment, not sure which of them was going to make the first move until James held out his hand for Steve to take. He did as he stepped forward and quickly realized that he was standing so close that he had to look up to meet James’ eyes. He could feel James’ hesitation to touch him with his metal prosthetic, so Steve reached out and moved his hand until it settled on his hip. There was a slight sway to their stance, but Steve wouldn’t have necessarily called it dancing; he was more amazed at the simple actions that had led them both to this moment now. He squeezed James’ hand a bit tighter than before.

“Can you tell me about that night?” He asked, his voice small; a blush rushed to cover James’ face. He closed his eyes for a while, as if recalling all the details of his memories and bringing them forward, not wanting to tell the story wrong.

“We had just gotten home from a dance across town. You were mad because some girl rejected a dance from you and I offered to walk you home…mostly so you wouldn’t get yourself into some kinda trouble.” James cracked a smile, he couldn’t help himself. For so long he had kept memories like these to himself because he had no one to talk to. After his liberation from Hydra and without the near constant whipping of his memories; things had slowly started to come back to him. He still didn’t trust the people around him, so he hadn’t confided in any of them about the memories that had started to pierce through the concrete of his mind. It felt good, being able to be present with Steve through every step of his process. It was everything that he never got himself.

“It wasn’t raining just yet that night, but you could feel the cold throughout every space of our apartment. You wouldn’t stop pouting all night so finally I offered to dance with you, so you would shut up about it. I played this song on your mother’s record player and held my hand out to you.” James said as he squeezed Steve’s hands just a bit tighter. Steve’s face was nearly as crimson as the sweater he wore. Their bodies were nearly flush against each other, the feeling Steve could only describe as magnetic. Being able to be this close to each other felt like pieces finally being set in place.

To Steve, listening to the recollections straight from James felt surreal and made him feel closer to the memories, as if it was almost completely known; so close to the surface. He shyly looked up into James’ icy eyes but all he could see was warmth that completely enveloped him. The song was coming to an end, about to break them out of their trance. He felt James’ grip on his hand and on his hip grow tighter and when he looked up again, he noticed something pass across James’ face that he hadn’t seen before. A dark look passed over his heavy eyes, his gaze dropped to Steve’s lips and back up; it was hard for Steve to mistake that look.

Desire; he knew the feeling in theory but had never felt it’s full effects until this moment. A new thickness in the air surrounded them, it was almost palpable. James’ breath was hot against Steve’s face, he smelled of soap and vanilla scented detergent; Steve wanted to revel in it all day. Perhaps he was getting wrapped up in all the emotions between them, but Steve naturally found himself pulling up on his toes and inching his lips ever closer. Just as their lips were about to meet, something inside Steve made him pause; which was all James needed to pull away. A second of a pause as enough for the magic and static of the moment to be broken. The last notes disappeared into crackles and pops as James took a step back, though their hands were still holding on. Steve couldn’t help but try and hide his disappointment, it was written across his face.

“I’m sure you can imagine what happened next.” James whispered shyly, his eyes looking nearly everywhere except Steve’s. Steve let go of his hand and they both fell to their sides. Steve knew what was coming next, James was bound to make his exit any second. Steve didn’t want him to go but he didn’t know how to make him stay. He didn’t know how to explain that when James was there it made everything in his head seem quieter. He only watched as James inched closer to the windows, it made him feel powerless.

“James…you don’t have to go away. You could hide here if you wanted.” Steve’s skin tingled when he noticed the faintest smile on James’ lips. It was a beautiful sight. Steve thought for a moment that his words might work, maybe James would stay with him in his tiny apartment. A space that was barely big enough for one, but he wanted to make it work. He had felt so alone for so long, learning now that he had been alone for a lot longer than he first imagine and that terrified him. James continued to move towards the windows and was about to step through when he stopped and looked at Steve.

“I don’t want to hide anymore.” He said, his mournful eyes looking right through Steve’s. He was there and then he was gone. Steve stood in the middle of his living room, listening to the static of his record player; empty hands at his sides, thinking about James’ last words. He laid in bed later that evening, still thinking about those words. James was becoming an enigma, a puzzle that Steve was determined to solve; with or without his memories.

 

Sunday mornings were always busy at the shop, Steve was busy trying to add new inventory into the computer and ringing up the steady line of customers. His face hurt from smiling so much. He was finishing ringing up a customer when a flash of red caught his attention towards the front of the shop. A woman, he recognized her from a few weeks prior; she had been shopping for a Kipling book. She stepped up to the counter once the throng of customers dissipated. 

“Hey, welcome back.” Steve said, smiling his best customer service smile and the red-head smiled back at him. She held a small, brown package in one hand. Before she spoke she looked around at all the remaining customers inside the shop, like she was making sure no one was listening to their conversation. 

“I owe you an apology, Mr. Rogers. I’m Natasha…” She reached out her hand and even though Steve was confused, he took her hand and shook it. “…I’m James’ partner. I was here a few weeks ago and to be perfectly honest, I was doing recon. Spying on you…” The apology seemed genuine, but Steve couldn’t help but laugh.

“I just assume everyone around me is a spy now, honestly. Mrs. Conway down the hall in my building is probably Black Ops.” Natasha cracked and laughed along with him. She set her package down on the counter and slid it towards Steve.

“James wanted you to have this. He would have delivered it himself, but he found a bug in his apartment and he didn’t want to risk being followed.” Steve had a lot of questions, but he didn’t get the chance. The second he looked back up to speak to Natasha, she was out the front door. Steve wanted to wait until he got home to open his package, but he could tell just from looking at it that it was a book and he just couldn’t help himself.

Pulling off the brown paper wrapping, he was left holding a well-worn copy of _The Absolutist_ by John Boyne. Steve had heard of it but had never found the time to read it. He opened the front cover and an envelope fell from the inside page. The top right corner of the cover page was inscribed with a signature, “Bucky Barnes, July 2013” How many times had this book been read in the last five years? Bucky? He had heard the name before in his dreams, his memories. Had he been calling James the wrong name the entire time? He looked down at the envelope, it was browning and warped, the creases and folds of the paper were plagued with age. He carefully opened the envelope and pulled out the paper. One sheet folded, with a photograph behind it. He looked at the photograph first, it was of James. The sepia toned photograph was old, he knew this immediately because of how young James looked in the picture. Though his face was covered in dirt, his youth was apparent. He was wearing his trench uniform; the hard hat covered his short hair and his rifle at his side. The look on his face was indicative of that time in history; he was neither smiling nor frowning, his eyes were vacant. Steve studied his face, looking for all the pieces of James that he saw now, in the man back then. He set the photo down and gently unfolded the piece of paper from the envelope; a letter. The writing was short and hasty, like he had been trying to get as many thoughts out in a short amount of time:

_Steve,_  
_I’m in Italy now, can you believe that? I haven’t received a letter from you in a few weeks, so I hope everything at home is okay. I had a dream last night, I don’t know how much I should tell you, but you were in it. We had decided to leave Brooklyn, crazy I know. We built a cabin just big enough for the both of us up North. I know it was just a dream but when I come home, let’s think about it._ After the War, it’s you and me until the end.  
Yours,  
**Bucky**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the song "May I Have This Dance?" by Meadowlark. This was a pretty tame chapter, preparing myself to have some real conflict in the next chapter.
> 
> Any thoughts or questions, you can visit me at [hanakimicali](http://hanakimicali.tumblr.com/)


	7. An Old Refrain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream becomes clear but nothing is easy for Steve and James.

Steve had always enjoyed his alone time, always enjoyed his own lingering thoughts and working things out on his own. Lately however, he’s been craving company. Someone to bounce ideas off, and to just share his space with. Ever since James walked back into his world he had found himself longing the companionship of another person. He noticed more now how he felt when James wasn’t around; the ache of having to hold onto his thoughts or ideas until James was around; wanting to share certain things with him only. He itched to ask him an endless string of questions about himself, who James had been as a kid, about his family and how he had found himself in future as well. His mind was never quiet, he was always thinking of something new to bring up to James; the main issue being that James wasn’t always around. He was on mission most of the time or making his presence scarce in case someone was watching. James was always concerned that Hydra was going to learn of the Nomad’s location, so James would disappear for days at a time, all the while Steve was left waiting. 

Tonight, he knew he had stayed up too late, fallen asleep on his love seat while reading The Absolutist; his mind swimming with thoughts of war time and forbidden feelings; his mind couldn’t help but bring forth trinkets of memories into his dreams. Swirling visions of a laboratory, filled with empty silver surgical tables and surfaces covered with tools. Voices on the other side of the doors, trying to gain entry. Rough, trained hands took his by his shoulders and spoke in a rushed, quiet voice.

“Steve, think about this for two seconds…” It was Sam, his trusted handler and his only friend. What more could he do but laugh at Sam’s words? He was already crying, crying for what was about to happen, crying for everything that had happened in his life. Everything that had been taken from him already, how was all this fair?

“…if you do this, you’ll lose everything.” Sam was pleading but they were running out of time. It was now or be captured, both enduring god-knows-what until their bodies finally give out. Steve laughed again through his tears.

“I lost everything worth having in 1944.” He said with a wry smile. Amid the chaos around them, Sam did his best to smile and comfort his friend by squeezing his small shoulders. It was the best he could do to convince him that this was a good plan. He helped Steve strap himself into the ice-like machine and hooked wires to his temples, making sure that the settings on the screen beside him were all set to the correct parameters. Once everything was in place, Sam looked to Steve once more to make sure that this was what he wanted. Steve closed his eyes, letting a tear fall down his pale cheek before nodding; a swift goodbye to a life he had always known.

The remembrances of incredible pain were enough to cause Steve to wake from his dream, screaming. Springing up in bed and feeling immediately lost. He was sweating, and it felt like his head had been lit of fire from the inside. As he struggled to catch his breath, he felt his mattress dip beside him. Strong arms surrounded him, he gripped them tight as he opened his blurry eyes and found James beside him. There was no time to be modest or embarrassed; he felt suddenly safe. Fresh, hot tears rolled down his cheeks as he rested his head against warm shoulders, feeling his breath begin to even out. As Steve began to calm, James lifted his arm hand to skirt through Steve’s light blonde hair; endlessly comforting.

His breathing became even, and Steve couldn’t help but focus on the intimacy of the situation. He had never had anyone in his room before, let alone in his bed. He could recognize the familiarity of James’ fingers skirting through his hair, he wondered if he did this often back in the old days. Although he realized it wouldn’t have been old for him, it would have just been another day in the life. Steve squeezed his eyes shut and begged himself to remember.

“I wish I could explain it correctly.” Steve said finally, his voice breaking. He pulled his head away from the comforting shoulder to look at James. His eyes looked dark blue in the darkness of Steve’s room. Even though they were face to face now, Steve still held onto James’ shoulders for support. He could feel that his left shoulder was stiffer than his other side, he assumed now that his metal hand was a metal arm; some time he would ask him about it but not now. The digits of his right hand still rested on the back of his neck, playing with the hair that resided there. Steve racked his brain for any memory of being this close to James before, but there was nothing. No matter how often he commanded his mind to recall the past, it was too difficult of his reset brain. All that surrounded him were memories from the last few years; surrounded by books and music, of Sam and Kamala and his simple life in Brooklyn.

“Explain what?” James asked, his voice was rough and hushed, the way you speak to avoid being overheard. There was no worry of that right now, they were very much alone. 

“How my mind feels like it’s being pulled in two different directions. Near desperation to remember the past and remember any small detail of our lives, but another part of me wants to move forward from here. Learn as I go and continue to be this Steve. The Steve you all talk about, I don’t know him.” Steve’s voice was even, he understood what he was saying, what the weight of his words meant for James.

“We can leave him behind if that’s what you want but you still have to understand, there are people out there that are looking for you. You won’t always feel safe.” Steve understood that what he was saying was completely true, but it was a risk that he was open to accepting. Steve left one hand resting on James’ shoulder and the other reached out and grazed against James’ cheek; smooth fingertips brushed against wetness along his stubbled skin. He wiped it away. James was crying quietly, and Steve wondered why. He didn’t seem like someone who would show his emotions in such a way.

“James…wha-“ Steve started but James sniffled and stifled some laughter. As if he himself were surprised by his own tears.

“I’m sorry, you are just so much like him sometimes. Without even realizing, it’s like I’m back in 1936.” James said with a smile on his face, but Steve could see the sadness around his eyes. This was the most of any emotion and conversation that Steve had experienced with James since they had met; it was intoxicating and refreshing.

“Did you love him?” Steve asked. Without even realizing it they had started to refer to himself before the memory wipe in the past tense, it seemed to make sense to them both. He wasn’t that man anymore and even if some of his memories were trickling back to him in dreams, he wasn’t the man he used to be. James knew that man, closely and intimately and that was of interest to Steve. Their bodies were so close together now, they were practically on top of each other; either of them too tired and overwhelmed with other emotions to feel self-conscious. There was a small part of Steve that was telling him to pull away, that this was all too much too fast, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. There was a warmth surrounding him that he wasn’t willing to lose. The rough fingers moving delicately through his hair was therapeutic, he didn’t want it to ever stop. James only nodded in response to Steve’s question, now knowing if he could trust his voice to be steady.

Steve rose a bit onto his knees so that he could shift himself and settle into James’ vast lap. James’ hands left his hair and circled on either side of Steve’s small hips, pulling him as close as he could possibly get him. Steve felt so small in his arms, letting all of James surround him. Part of him thought for a split second that he should feel embarrassed by how small he was compared to him, but he felt nothing but warmth and lust; it surrounded both of them. Instead it excited him that he was able to be picked up and moved so easily; the thrum of excitement coursed through his veins. His leith ran through long locks of brown hair, their faces so close their breath mingled in the space between them.

“I’m not him.” It may not have been the thing that James wanted to hear in that moment, but it was true. He could feel James’ grip on his hips grow tighter, the only response that he caught from his words. It was such a long list of reasons that Steve felt himself drawn to James, even before finding out about their past and every moment they spent together only brought them closer together; those memories locked inside his brain closer to the surface. Steve looked directly into James’ eyes and saw years of pain and loneliness and yet, his blue eyes still held a softness. He could feel himself getting caught up in the emotion of it all, he wanted more. Clearly James had the same thoughts running through his head as he held his breath just as he was about to exhale; the air around them seemed to spark with static. 

Steve never thought of himself as a risk taker, that seemed to him more like what he had heard about his old self but in this moment, he wanted to risk it all. Fall head first into James’ world, no matter what that meant for his life. He was ready to throw caution to the wind. Just as their lips were about to graze across each other, something out of the corner of Steve’s eye caught his attention. He pulled away from James to look at it again – a small, red dot whizzed around the room, seemingly following all their movements; it was coming through the window. When James opened his eyes after noticing that Steve had pulled away, he watched the floating red dot stop right against the pale flesh of Steve’s forehead. Steve may have watched in confused wonder, but James knew exactly what was going on.

“Steve, get down!” James lifted and pulled Steve off the bed and to the floor with ease. A crash of glass and sound of a bullet hitting the wall shook Steve back to his senses. Someone had just tried to kill him, and he had narrowly escaped, if it hadn’t been for James he would have been dead in an instant. Steve reached out for James when another shot cracked through the still air around them, a tiny bullet piercing the night stand right beside his head; wood cracking and breaking all around him. Steve tried to cover his head in protection and seek out James at that same time. He saw James crouching just below his bedroom window, a frantic look in his eyes and a gun in his metal hand. Steve thought about where the gun could have been hiding on James’ body, he had never even noticed it was there.

James rummaged through his jacket pocket for his cell phone, all he had to do was hit the number one on his speed dial and his phone was already dialing before Steve could even think to ask who he was calling.

“James-“ the low, serious voice on the other end answered. Steve recognized it as Natasha as another shot rang out, this one landing near his feet. Steve was running out of places to narrowly escape getting hit by a bullet.

“Nat, listen to me. They found him, I’m about to extract Steve but I need you to meet me at Prospect in fifteen minutes with the car, do you understand me?” His voice was both urgent and controlled, to make sure that Natasha would take him seriously but also to let her know that he had the situation completely under control. Steve wasn’t sure how, having a stranger shooting at you seemed to show a complete lack of control.

“I’m on it. Be careful.” Was all Natasha said before hanging up the phone. Steve got the distinct idea that they had talked about this being a possible outcome before and thus, had a plan in place just in case. James stuffed the phone back into his jacket pocket and turned his attention back to Steve, who was curled up in a ball on the floor, his hands covering his head to protect from any gun fire.

“Listen to me, Steve. I am going to get you out of here, but you have to do as I say.” James spoke in short, brief turns and Steve knew that he had to comply. Their eyes were locked on each other’s and amidst all the chaos surrounding them, Steve felt safe.

“Crawl over to me, together we’re are going to make it out of your room, towards the front door. We are going to take the elevator all the way down to the lobby floor. Go out the back and take back alley’s until we get to Prospect Park, okay?” Steve nodded frantically with every word. “Natasha is going to meet us there with our getaway.” James had to shout over the loud ringing of another bullet crashing through the last remaining window pane. Steve felt helpless, his apartment was getting destroyed and there was nothing he could do about it. “Ready, Steve?” James called out to him, snapping him back to his reality. Just as Steve was about to crawl towards were James was crouching, something flew through the window and into the room. Steve just looked down at it for a moment, it was larger than a bullet, heavier as it landed and rolled in between both men. Steve felt frozen in place as he heard James cursing across from him. James jumped out of his crouch to pick up the dark, metal object and try to throw it back out the way it had come. The second it was out of the room, it exploded into the flash of incredibly blinding light. For a moment everything was white, and Steve couldn’t hear a thing; all he could feel was himself getting picked up off the ground and being rushed out of his room, down the hallway and towards his front door. James took him by the elbow and made for the front door, his gun in his other hand, ready to engage at any moment.

They were just about out of the apartment, Steve’s vision finally starting to come into focus again and he felt a panic set over his body. If they were going to escape from this place, his home, that meant that he was about to leave everything that he loved about his life behind. The thought brought a sickness to his stomach. James was about to fling the door open when Steve stopped and tried to wriggle is way out of James’ grip. He turned away from him and doubled back towards his living room.

“Steve, what are you doing? We gotta go!” James shouted back to him as he watched him quickly rush over to his book case. His fingers pushed some of his photos and trinkets out of the way until he found what he was frantically looking for. He pulled a book out of his collection, holding it as tightly as he could as another shot rang through his living room window; exploding glass everywhere and penetrating the bookcase beside him. Steve ran back towards his front door, James’ hand reaching out towards him. He took his hand and together they rushed out of the apartment, down the stairs until the made it to the back entrance. James looked out back to make sure everything was clear before they ran out into the night.

Hand and hand, they made it through back streets and alleyways, until they arrived at the edges of Prospect Park. James’ eyes were darting back and forth, looking for any sign of danger. A minute later, the headlights of a car broke into their field of vision. It started to make Steve feel nervous, but James didn’t seem to be affected by it. Steve found himself watching the gruff man for queues to how he should be feeling, he was calmed by the fact that James just stood, watching and letting the car approach them.  
The car stopped, and Natasha got out of the car while the engine was still running. It was a relief for Steve to see her, even though they didn’t know each other well at all, he knew that she and James were partners and had a trusting relationship. Natasha approached them, looking relieved as well and she took James in her arms in a hug. Though James looked a bit uncomfortable, he returned the hug, it was the first time since their escape that James had let go of Steve’s hand.

“Jesus Barnes, what happened?” Natasha asked as she pulled out of the hug. She looked back and forth between him and Steve as she waited for James to answer. James sighed deeply as they moved away from each other and he went back to standing at Steve’s side.

“They must have followed me. They knew that I would lead them to the Nomad, so they followed me.” Steve could see the shame written all over James’ face. Natasha cursed under her breath and all Steve could think to do in that moment was to try and ease James’ guilt, so he reached out and took James’ hand again in his own, flesh to flesh. James looked back to him and his expressions softened. 

“Where are you going to go?” Natasha asked, and she wasn’t sure if she was going to get a real answer. She handed the keys of the car to James and wondered if that was going to be the last time she ever saw any of them. James, the car or Steve.

“The Gorge. You’re the only person who knows about it. Don’t let anyone find us.” James said with serious words and kind eyes. He got into the driver’s side of the car, Steve got into the passenger side and within moments, they were driving away from the park, leaving Natasha behind. There was silence in the car and Steve’s could feel the incredible tension in his limbs. He had been clenching every muscle of his body since James had arrived in his bedroom and he wasn’t sure if it was safe enough yet to let his body relax.

He took notice that James had turned onto the New Jersey turnpike and was heading north, he didn’t want to ask him just yet where they were heading; all he knew was that they were heading somewhere safe. James wasn’t going to let anyone get to him that aimed to cause him harm, there was comfort enough in that fact. He was startled out of his thoughts by the sudden presence of James’ flesh hand moving from the steering wheel to rest in Steve’s lap, palm up in invitation. Steve let his left hand wrap their fingers in between James’ and squeeze. The comfort of contact. 

“What did you go back for?” James asked, his voice deep and soothing. Steve could tell that his adrenaline was starting to wear off from the incredible excitement of their escape. Their heart rates were starting to rest at a normal pace and a calming quiet drifted through the car. Steve couldn’t help the small smile that formed on his lips. Locked in a vice grip in his other hand was his paperback version of Leaves of Grass. Resting inside some of the pages were the photographs and notes that James had been leaving for him before they had met face to face. Steve closed his eyes, letting all the stress of the night melt from his body. He felt James squeeze his hand again and he felt so much comfort in that. He didn’t know where they were going but he knew that it would take a long time to get there. He clutched his book to his chest with one hand, holding tight to James with the other. He let his eyes drift closed and his exhaustion took over as he listened to the steady rumble of the car engine. His last thought before drifting off to sleep was of leaving Brooklyn behind and wondering where they were headed next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I work retail and of course, we are going into the busiest time of the year for me, hence why it took me so long to post the next chapter. I've been so exhausted from work that I come home, eat and go to sleep. On my days off, I mostly sleep. I leave it on a bit of a cliffhanger, so hopefully I will have the next chapter up for you soon. I appreciate all of you who are reading and commenting.
> 
> As always, you can visit me at [hanakimicali](http://hanakimicali.tumblr.com/)


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